Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery) (4 page)
Read Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery) Online
Authors: Deborah Sharp
Tags: #Fiction, #mystery, #cozy, #mystery novel, #humorous, #mystery fiction
I didn’t mention it wasn’t the first time today I’d watched one of my relatives upchuck. I hoped Kenny’s behavior hadn’t triggered an epidemic of family vomiting.
Earlier, at work, I’d finished my chores. I groveled until I patched
things up with my boss. When not chasing down murderers or
dealing with family drama, I was a reliable employee. Rhonda was a forgiving sort, usually willing to meet me more than halfway.
I left the park and headed for Maddie’s house, dreading the conversation I knew we needed to have. I brewed chamomile tea and sat her at the kitchen table, where I broke the news that her husband was in fact a cheating bastard. It seemed she was taking it pretty well. Then I got to the part about the swingers’ club, and how Kenny may have been the last person to see Camilla Law before she was murdered. Maddie clapped a hand over her mouth and galloped for the bathroom.
She threw up two full cups of chamomile tea, turning the water in the toilet bowl bright yellow. I flushed.
“Did you eat anything today, sister?’’
She shook her head, putting two fingers over her lips to cover a burp.
“You have to eat, Maddie.’’
Even as I said the words, I thought how weird they sounded. Maddie never needed encouragement to eat. Usually, we encouraged her to stop. She collected herself, and began getting up from the bathroom floor. I helped her to sit on the bathtub edge. Then I gathered the balled-up, soggy tissues from the countertop, and tossed them in the wastebasket. One hit the rim, bouncing onto the floor behind the toilet. I got on my knees to pick it up. The angle brought my face right over the top of the wastebasket.
I spotted a white plastic test stick at the bottom, peeking out from a rolled up wad of toilet tissue. There was a miniature display window near the tip of the stick. A plus sign, for positive, beamed in bright blue.
The water ran in the sink. My sister brushed her teeth. My mind raced.
“Is there something you want to tell me, Maddie?’’
_____
We were in Maddie’s kitchen again. She had a glass of room-
temperature ginger ale in front of her. Outside the window, night had fallen. Maddie was so still, I could hear the bubbles fizzing in the carbonated drink.
“How far along are you?’’
She rested a hand lightly on her stomach. “It can’t be too far. My periods had gotten kind of irregular over the last couple of years, but I remember having one when Pam was home from college.’’
“So that was mid-summer, and this is September. About two months, then?’’
She shrugged; sipped the ginger ale.
“What are you going to do?’’
Her eyes cut me like laser beams. She slammed down the glass, sloshing soda all over the table. “I’m going to have it, of course.’’
“You do have choices, Maddie. A baby may not be the best thing for you right now with
…
”
My words trailed off when I saw her reaction. Her face darkened. Her hands flew to her stomach, as if she were shielding the embryo inside. I left the rest of that sentence unspoken: …
with a cheating husband who could be facing murder charges
.
Even if Kenny was innocent—and I wasn’t 100 percent sure he was—he might have to go to court to prove it. It wouldn’t be
cheap, and it wouldn’t be easy. You could say the same about
Maddie, giving birth at her age with one problem-plagued pregnancy behind her.
“I’m having this baby, whatever else happens. After all the trou
ble I had bringing Pam into the world, I wasn’t supposed to be able
to get pregnant again. God must have a reason for sending this child my way now.’’
I was less devout than my sister was. I didn’t give voice to the question looping through my brain: What if the Big Guy upstairs had made a mistake?
She drank some more soda, and then squared her shoulders. Her voice came out sounding strong, much more like normal Maddie. “I’ll tell you one thing. This kid will never see the sad-sack version of me you’ve had to witness lately.’’
She stood and leaned toward me across the table. In her eyes, I saw a spark of the old Maddie igniting. “I’m going to do something I should have done as soon as I discovered Kenny was running around on me.’’
She stalked into the laundry room, returning with two empty clothes baskets. I followed her down the hallway to hers and Kenny’s bedroom. She threw the baskets on the bed and started tossing in his clothes. I saw the sleeve of that fancy shirt, tangled up with several pairs of vibrantly colored men’s briefs. If the phone number in Kenny’s pants pocket hadn’t been enough to make Maddie suspicious, those sexy “manties,’’ or men’s panties, should have nailed it.
When the baskets brimmed, she nodded to me. “Grab one, would you?’’
I did, and trailed after her through the house to the back door.
She flicked on an outdoor flood light, turned the knob with one hand,
and kicked the door open. Outside, she entered the utility shed where they stored garden supplies, tools, and a grill. She tossed a can of lighter fluid in her basket, and then scrabbled on a high shelf until she found a long box of matches. She was just about to walk out when she spotted a half-empty golf bag with some spare clubs inside.
“Can you get that golf thingy?’’ she asked.
Shifting the basket to one hip, I hefted the golf bag over my shoulder.
Maddie marched to the fire pit in the yard. How many back
yard barbecues had I attended here, with Kenny as the attentive host?
You like your burger medium-rare, right Mace? Let me get you another beer.
Maddie turned her basket upside down, kicking everything into the hole but matches and lighter fluid. Little puffs of old ash rose around the mound of clothes.
She looked at me, waiting. I stood, considering the wisdom of what we were about to do. I remembered a similar scene in Mama’s backyard, after she finally got fed up with Husband No. 2. It was childish and immature and a waste of the good money spent on the lout’s clothes.
But I recalled the satisfied smile that spread across Mama’s face as flames consumed the possessions of her unfaithful husband. It was the first time in months Mama had seemed like herself.
I chucked the contents of my basket onto the pile. Then I threw in the golf bag, too. As the bag slid sideways, a Florida Gators cover bobbed atop one of the golf club heads. The plush, toothy University of Florida mascot seemed to be grinning.
“Light that sucker up!’’ I said.
Maddie doused the pile with lighter fluid.
Scraaaatchh
went the match.
Whuuuuff
went the clothes. Once the flames really got going, I stole a glance at my sister’s face. No smile in the golden glow; but her jaw was set with renewed strength.
_____
Damn
! I was halfway down the steps on Maddie’s porch when I realized I’d forgotten to tell her that Mama and Marty wanted to help. My inclination was to bring them in. If Kenny hadn’t killed Camilla, we needed to find out who had. To clear Kenny, I could use their assistance. Well, Marty’s anyway. Mama’s help was often more curse than blessing.
I turned back to the front door. Maddie had removed the spare key from the flowerpot once the whole mess with Kenny intensified. My hand was almost on the doorbell when I noticed something strange hanging in the place of the door wreath. I distinctly remembered the wreath being there when I arrived. As I’d waited for her to let me in, I’d straightened a silk sunflower and brushed some dust from a clump of fake berries.
Now, the point of a silver knife pinned a note to the door. From the knife dangled a black leather collar, complete with a leash. It resembled the collar that encircled Camilla’s neck when Mama and I found her body at the dump. My breath quickened. Instinctively, I looked over my shoulder, scanning the dark hedges and the street beyond. All was silent. On the wooden porch, no planks creaked. No breath sounded, aside from my own.
I squinted to read the scrawled message under the knife:
Kenny’s a murderer. He must pay for his crime. Try to get him off, and someone in this family dies.
forty-two
My first thought was
of Maddie:
She
could not see this.
Was she in danger? I wanted to hide the threat and the sex gear,
as if by doing that I could protect my sister from heartache or harm
.
I snatched the knife, along with the collar and leash, from the door. The note I slid into my pocket.
The fact I was tampering with evidence might have given me pause, if not for what happened next. A car door slammed, as loud as a shot in the quiet night. An engine gunned. Tires screeched. A vehicle roared past—no headlights, careering wildly from side to side on the narrow street. It was large, dark, and there was a Graf for Mayor bumper sticker on the back.
All the windows were dark in the homes of Maddie’s neighbors, early-to-bed retirees with notoriously cautious driving habits. One of them might be a Graf supporter, but I’d never heard
squealing tires on her street before. Was the speeding car linked
to the note and kinky accessories? I raced to my Jeep, determined to find out.
Swerving into the road, I gave chase to the fleeing car. The headlamps were now lit; twin taillights glowed red in the distance. The driver blew through the stop sign at the end of Maddie’s street, and turned in a wide arc onto the highway leading away from town. I paused at the sign, and then jammed my foot on the gas to follow. My Jeep shimmied trying to match the other driver’s speed. The big car had a head start and greater horsepower. I was losing him.
I urged my old Jeep onward, but as the miles passed, the taillights ahead grew smaller and smaller. When they were barely pinpricks, I knew I’d never catch him. Pounding my steering wheel in frustration, I eased off the gas. No sense in blowing a valve or some other crucial engine part on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere. I pulled my purse onto the seat, and started feeling
around inside for my cell phone. I wasn’t sure what was going on.
I didn’t know how Kenny was involved. But I intended to call Maddie to tell her not to open her door to anyone—including her husband.
Picking through the purse, I felt the sharp point of a metal spike on the collar. I pulled it out, hearing the
clink-clink-clink
of the chain attached. I was fuzzy on the details of how and why people got a sexual kick out of being leashed and dragged around like a dog. In
my experience with dogs, even they don’t seem to enjoy it that much.
If the spiky collar was sharp, it would be nothing compared to the knife I’d also dropped in my purse. I wanted to find my phone, but I didn’t want to sever a thumb. With a hand on the wheel, I dumped the purse’s contents on the passenger seat. The phone slid under the seat.
Slowing, I ducked down and felt around under there. I encountered an empty cup that once held sweet tea from the drive-thru; and something soft I hoped was a dirty sock. With the phone finally in my grasp, I straightened up again. Bright lights shone in my rear-view mirror.
“Where’d you come from?’’ I muttered into the night.
I moved to the right, so he could pass me. He sped up, staying glued to my bumper. When I pressed the on button on my phone, the screen lit. I quickly glanced at it. No bars. Not good.
Behind me, the driver revved his engine. Lights flashed, blindingly bright. We were alone. This stretch of highway, leading north through ranches and citrus groves, was deserted. I felt for the tire iron normally stashed under my seat. Almost at the same moment, I remembered leaving it in Henry’s minivan that morning, after we confronted Kenny.
The headlight glare compromised my ability to see who was behind
me. But my ears were perfect, and I knew the sound of gunfire when I heard it. A shot pinged off my right bumper. Another
pop, and the mirror on the driver’s side shattered.
Shit
. That was close.
I hunkered down as much as I could and started watching the dark shapes of trees and brush along the shoulder of the road. Somewhere along this desolate stretch was an abandoned cow pen. Rarely used and almost overgrown, the dirt-road cutoff to the pen was hard to see. I prayed I hadn’t passed it.
With the black night all around me and the high beams behind me, I couldn’t be sure what type of vehicle was chasing me. My four-wheel-drive Jeep, though, could handle rough terrain. And there it was, just ahead: A bullet-riddled sign from a long-gone ranch, a forgotten cattle brand in barely legible red. On splintered legs, only a few feet off the ground, the wooden sign served as target practice for local yahoos.
I spun to the right, plunging off the road and through thigh-high brush. I cut my lights. The Jeep went airborne over a small rise I remembered, and then clattered over the rusty grate of a weed-choked cattle guard.
On the other side, I took my foot off the gas and jounced for a hundred yards or so over a rutted dirt road. I rolled to a stop and cut the motor. At first, all I could hear was my own ragged breathing. Then, I heard the sound of an engine slowing. I heard tires on pavement, then on the rocks and grass of the road’s shoulder. Was the car stopping? No, now the tires rang over pavement again. The driver had U-turned. Gaining speed on the highway, he was headed back in my direction.
I re-started the Jeep. The rutted drive intersected a sandy cattle trail. I made a hard left, gunning it through the dirt. The Jeep fishtailed a bit, before the tires gripped ground. Behind me, I saw a crazy dance of headlights over pasture. My pursuer had found the cut-off, and was bouncing up and down over the rutted drive. I kept going, all my attention focused on getting away. The note on Maddie’s door had threatened death for someone in my family. I was afraid to think about how all this might end.
An engine whined behind me. I looked in the rear view mirror. The reflected glow from his headlights was dimmer now, and no longer bouncing. I kept driving. The other engine screamed; tires spun. I guessed he’d gotten stuck in the sandy trail. Slowing, I kept my eyes fastened on the rear-view. Even if his tires were snared, he might still come after me on foot.
I watched—boot on the gas, hands on the wheel, eyes on the mirror. I saw nothing … until I felt the jolt of my Jeep ramming head-on into the galvanized steel of a pasture gate.
forty-three
In the morning, I
couldn’t tell if the aches in my body were from the Jeep vs. gate collision, or from passing an almost sleepless night on the splintery floor of an abandoned storage shed.
I rolled my shoulders. My spine cracked. My left elbow and knee
pulsated with pain. I must have smacked them on the steering wheel when I slammed into the padlocked gate. Or, maybe they got bruised when I clambered over it, slipped on the top bar, and tumbled to the ground. It was funny how something that seemed so loose and sandy when you drove over it felt like concrete when you fell on it.
After the wreck, I hightailed it through the woods on foot until I found the old shed. I had no idea if I was being followed. But I figured the safest option was to seek a hiding place and wait it out. I’d kept a vigilant watch, clutching a rusty wrench I found in the corner of the shed. But I must have dozed off for an hour or two sometime before dawn.
Now, I peered outside through a grimy, cracked window. Light was just beginning to edge the sky. Shadows and shapes around the shed were turning into familiar objects: A fence post, encircled with a rusty snarl of barbed wire. An ancient stock tank, upside down and peppered with the bullet holes of target shooters. Mist rose from a cow pond in the distance. I was lucky I hadn’t run my Jeep into
that
instead of the gate.
Limping, I made my way back to the scene of the crash. The Jeep listed to the left: Both tires on that side were flat. My satchel of a purse and most of its contents were still on the passenger-side floor, where they’d fallen when I struck the gate. I’d been in a rush,
and hadn’t wanted the encumbrance of a big purse bouncing against
my side as I tried to run. Groping in the dark, I’d located wallet, keys, and phone. Those, I stuck into various pockets. Everything else I left where it fell.
The black leather collar and leash were gone. So was the knife. It probably came in handy for the pursuer to slash my tires.
I climbed onto the gate again, more carefully this time. More painfully, too. I balanced gingerly at the top, a foot on either side of the highest slat. I aimed my cell phone until one bar appeared. First, I called my lawyer cousin and told him to hustle up Kenny for a trip to the police station. Then, I hit the speed dial for Carlos.
_____
I swatted with one hand at mosquitoes, and flagged down my fiancé with the other. Driving one of the police department’s marked SUVs, Carlos pulled onto the dirt-and-weed-choked shoulder of the highway. I sneezed as a dusty cloud engulfed me. He leaned across the console and opened the passenger door, but didn’t apologize for the dust storm kicked up by the SUV. His grim expression and that familiar vein throbbing at his temple almost made me turn around and run.
“Tow truck’s on the way.’’ He spit out the words, looking like each one cost him dearly.
“I’m sorry
…
”
He thrust out his wrist, giving me the silent signal for “talk to the hand.’’
“But
…
”
“Don’t even start. There is no possible excuse. You could have been killed.’’
I stared at my fingers, folded across my knees. He was right, of course. And if he was this mad at me now, how would he feel when I revealed what I knew about Kenny and Camilla?
“So, this person who was chasing you—”
“—People,’’ I said. “I left Maddie’s house chasing one car. Then another car came out of nowhere and started chasing me. I’m certain the two were linked.’’
“That remains to be seen. But you’re positive someone was shooting
from the vehicle behind you?’’
“Yes.’’ I pointed to the brush-heavy cutoff. “My Jeep’s through there. You can see for yourself.’’
“I intend to.’’
He eased the car over the cattle grate, and we bounced for a while
without speaking. “Good thing you brought an SUV,’’ I ventured.
He gave me a curt nod, vein still throbbing.
Pointing out the windshield, I indicated where the cattle trail intersected the potholed drive. “That’s where I think he got stuck. I could hear the tires spinning in the sand.’’
The car, of course, was gone now. The driver likely had help getting
unstuck.
I continued giving Carlos directions. He rolled to a stop, and parked
a short distance from my Jeep. The gate was dented and bowed out, caught in my front bumper. If I’d have been going much faster, I might have driven right through it. We got out of the SUV, and I stood by while Carlos sprayed himself with insect repellent.
“Mind if I use that?’’
He tossed me the bug spray. “It’s a free country.’’ The can landed in the dirt.
He pulled on a pair of gloves and went to examine the Jeep. We both were being careful to try to preserve any evidence that might prove useful. Shoeprints or fingerprints. Discarded trash or cigarette butts. Hair or a shred of fabric. He crouched to take a closer look at the tires.
“Looks like he used a knife,’’ he said.
Now seemed as good—or bad—a time as any to confess. “I might know something about that.’’
Carlos barely uttered a word as I told him about the swingers’ club at the golf course and the collar and knife I’d found on Maddie’s door.
“You took it?’’
I nodded.
“I wish you hadn’t done that.’’
“Me, too.’’
“That’s evidence, now gone. What possessed you?’’
“I didn’t want Maddie to see it.’’
He raised his eyes, consulted the clouds. I had the feeling he was counting to five. “I know Maddie is a bit prudish, but she’s a grown woman. She’s probably heard about such things before,’’ he finally said.
He still didn’t hold the piece he needed to have the puzzle make sense. Reluctantly, I pulled the note from my pants pocket. “This is what I found with the knife and the rest stuck to Maddie’s door. I’m sorry; my fingerprints are on it.’’
“Of course they are.’’
He read it silently, his eyes widening. Then, he read it aloud, articulating every word:
“‘Kenny’s a murderer. He must pay for his crime. Try to get him
off, and someone in this family dies.’’’
I waited for him to say something. He just kept staring at the note.
“Remember when I told you Kenny was cheating on Maddie? The person he was cheating with was Camilla.’’
The pulsing vein looked ready to burst right through Carlos’s skin.
_____
The ride back to town felt like it unfolded in slow motion. Carlos was so angry, I could almost feel heat radiating off his body. I tried to explain. He stared out the windshield at the road—jaw clenched, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Finally, he turned to give me a glare—quick, but singeing.
“You deliberately withheld information.’’
“Only until I could tell Maddie. I didn’t want her to find out about
Kenny by reading in the
Himmarshee Times
you’d arrested her husband on suspicion of murder.’’
A beat-up car in front of us traveled at twenty-five miles an hour under the speed limit. Carlos pulled past as the driver nervously regarded the marked SUV in his rear-view mirror.
“The issue here is trust.’’ He glanced at me. “I have to be able to trust you. Right now, I don’t. You lied to me. You compromised my investigation. You compromised my
job
.’’
“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything. Besides, why is all this on me?’’ I asked. “Maybe if I felt I could trust
you
, I would have told you about Kenny. I didn’t want to test you though; make you decide between my family and a convenient suspect.’’
His grip tightened on the wheel.
“We all know how well that turned out in the past,’’ I added.
“
Coño
, Mace!’’ He spit out the Cuban cuss word. “Are we never going to forget that incident with your mother?’’
“You mean the incident when you moved up from Miami, thought you knew everything, and tossed Mama in jail?’’
“When
I
thought
I
knew everything? Isn’t that the frying pan calling the pot black?’’
Now probably wasn’t the time to comment on his grasp of pop
ular sayings. “I don’t think I know everything,’’ I muttered.
“No, you don’t think you do. You’re positive you do. And that’s what keeps getting us in trouble. Well, this is my job. My life. And you keep sticking your nose into it, thinking you know best.’’
“It’s my life, too, Carlos. This is my family.’’
He put a hand to his forehead; squeezed that spot above the bridge of his nose where his headaches began. “Do you hear us? Each of us says ‘my.’ My life. My job. My family. Are we ever going to say ‘our’? Will two people who feel so separate ever be able to build a life together?’’
His voice was quiet. He didn’t sound angry; just resigned. I thought about his question. I didn’t know how to answer it. Instead, I turned my head to look out the window. When we passed the livestock auction on the outskirts of town, I finally spoke.
“Could you drop me at Mama’s?’’
“Whatever you say.’’
With my hands on my lap, I wiggled the engagement ring off my finger. When he pulled up at Mama’s curb, I opened the door and got out. “The answer to your question is no.’’ I stood on the street, leaning into the car.
Confusion settled on his face. I held out my hand, palm open. The ring winked in the morning light.
“No, we cannot build a life together.’’ I pushed the ring toward him. “We do seem too separate.’’
He stared at the ring, making no move to take it from my hand.
“Close the door, Mace. Your family’s waiting. I have to get to work.’’
Yanking his cell phone from his pocket, he sped away without a
backward glance. I watched him go. In my sweating palm, I clutched
our engagement ring. Was the promise it symbolized now broken?
forty-four
“Was that your handsome
fiancé I just saw, peeling out of here like Dale Earnhardt at Daytona, God rest his soul?’’ Mama stepped off her front stoop and peered down the street. “How’d you make him mad this time, Mace?’’
If only she knew. “I didn’t do anything.’’
She tilted my chin so she could look in my eyes. “You’re not a good liar.’’
I leaned against the wall to kick off my work boots at her front door. Last time I visited, I tracked a smear of possum poop across her peach-colored carpet. I thought she was going to ban me for life from Pizza Night.
Mama rubbed at a dab of dirt on the door jamb where I’d propped
my hand. I pretended I didn’t see her rolling her eyes.
“Who’s here?’’ I asked.
“Me, Sal, Marty, and Teensy, of course.’’ She smiled down at the dog, prancing around her ankles. He gave a little yip.
“So,’’ she said, “is the engagement off?’’
I’m sure my face registered my surprise. How did she read minds
like that?
Mama pointed at my left hand. The ring finger was bare. I patted the pocket of my jeans; felt the prongs on the diamond through the denim fabric.
“I took it off to spread some mulch at the park,’’ I said.
“Sure you did.’’
Marty poked her head out the front door. “Did you tell Mace about Kenny?’’
Mama aimed a pointed look at my ring-less finger. “Don’t think
you’ve heard the last from me. We’ll get to Carlos and you later.’’
If there still
was
a Carlos and me later.
Marty smoothed my hair; lifted out a twig. “You look like you slept in the woods, Mace.’’
Since that wasn’t unusual, neither of them questioned my lack of response.
“About Kenny, he’s staying with Henry,’’ Marty said. “After last night’s Wednesday services, they spent hours with Reverend Delilah in the chapel at Abundant Forgiveness.’’
Mama wet her finger with spit, and swiped at what I assumed was a streak of dirt on my face. “Because of Delilah’s history, she has special expertise with cheating husbands,’’ she added.
“What time were they at the chapel?’’ Images tumbled through
my mind: A shots-fired car chase; me galloping through the woods,
trying to escape an unknown pursuer; my long night on a hard floor at the abandoned ranch.
Marty cocked her head at Mama in a question. Mama took over the narration: “It was late, Henry said. After you and I left the radio station yesterday, Henry and Kenny spent the rest of the day at Henry’s law office. They were planning strategy.’’
Marty added, “Henry had him spend the night, keeping an eye on him. He says our brother-in-law may be guilty of being stupid, but he’s not guilty of murder.’’
I let out a breath I hadn’t even known I was holding. If Henry never let Maddie’s husband out of his sight, Kenny could not have been the person shooting at me. Now, I just had to find out who was.
“According to Henry, all Kenny cares about is getting his wife back,’’ Mama said. “He says he’s never seen a man so full of remorse.’’
Marty toed Teensy out of the doorway. She led the way inside and across Mama’s new plastic carpet runner to the kitchen. It appeared to be completely poop-resistant. I tried not to wince as I sat down. Once we were settled, Sal carried three oversized mugs to the table.
“Coffee’s just brewed,’’ he said. “I figured you girls could use some coffee if we’re going to decide how to keep Kenny out of jail.’’
We began to discuss strategy: Marty would discover as much as she could about Camilla from the library and Camilla’s sister, Prudence. Mama would sift through the useful—and useless—gossip at Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow. Sal would grill some of his cronies at the golf course. I planned to discover who wanted to scare me off the search for the real killer.
The phone on the wall rang. Teensy started yapping. I swiveled to answer the call, and spilled my coffee when I hit my sore knee on the table. Mama jumped up to sop at the caffeinated puddle now dripping onto Marty’s lap.
“It’s Henry,’’ I said, as Sal tried in vain to shush Teensy.
“What the hell’s going on over there, Mace?’’ Henry raised his voice to be heard.
“The usual,’’ I answered.
Mama tried to grab the phone from my hand. “What’s Henry saying?’’
“I’d tell you if I wasn’t having so much trouble hearing him between you yammering and your ridiculous dog yelping.’’
Sal scooped Teensy off the floor, covering the dog’s ears with his bear-sized hands. “Don’t listen to Mace. She’s just a big meanie. Daddy’s widdle boy is not ridiculous, is he?’’
Forget the dog’s ears. Mine were hurting from Sal’s baby talk.
“Sorry. What, Henry?’’ I said into the phone.
“I talked to your fiancé. He wants Kenny to come in for questioning.’’
I thought of Maddie. My stomach clenched. “What’d you say to him?’’
“Say to whom?’’ Marty asked. “Say what to whom?’’
“I said Kenny certainly would come in. He has nothing to hide. I told Carlos I’d be present as counsel, of course.’’
“Tell us what’s going on, Mace,’’ Sal demanded.
I put the mouthpiece aside and told them. “Carlos wants to question Kenny.’’
Marty gasped. Mama nodded. “Been there, done that,’’ she said.
I stepped into the hall, cupped my hand over the phone, and whispered my latest news: The threatening note and my highway adventure.
“I can’t hear a word Mace is saying,’’ Mama griped.
“She’ll tell us when she gets off,’’ Sal tried to appease her.
“Mace always did try to keep secrets,’’ Marty said.
On the phone, Henry said: “Someone’s trying to frame Kenny.’’
“Then why are they chasing me?’’ I asked.
“Who’s chasing you?’’ Mama had stepped into the hall, and was lurking beside me. I plugged my ear with a finger so I could hear Henry’s answer.
“They don’t want you looking into this murder,’’ he said. “Like it or not, cousin, you’ve got a reputation. Kenny’s a convenient suspect. Camilla’s real killer doesn’t want you or anyone else unraveling this particular whodunit.’’
Marty sidled up, tapping on my shoulder. “Ask him what time Kenny’s supposed to be at the police department.’’
I started to repeat the question. “I heard her,’’ Henry said. “Carlos wants to see him today at six o’clock, sharp.’’
“I hope he’s not using the rest of the day to get an arrest warrant,’’
I said.
“Arrested? Did Henry say Kenny’s going to be arrested?’’ Sal shouted from the kitchen.
Mama wailed. The dog howled. Marty went pale and chewed at her lip.
“I better go,’’ I finally said to Henry. “This is exactly how rumors
get started.’’
forty-five
A skinny blonde with
bad teeth sucked on a cigarette in front of the police department. Her protest sign, message side out, was propped against a scrub pine:
No Mercy for Murderers!!
I didn’t recognize her. But there were plenty of people in the c
rowd I did recognize. I’d made plans to meet up at the station after
work with Mama, Marty, and Sal. We wanted to be there to show our support for Kenny when Henry escorted him in to answer Carlos’s questions. From the looks of the crowd, it seemed Kenny would need it.
I spotted D’Vora. When I waved, she ducked her head and got busy fiddling with the clasp of her purse. I crossed over and tapped her on the shoulder. “What are you doing here?’’
“I dunno.’’
“Well, you must have come for some reason.’’
She raised her head. “I heard the cops were going to arrest Kenny for killing Camilla.’’
“That is not true, D’Vora! Carlos only wants to ask him some questions. He may have critical information, since he was among the last people to see her before she was murdered.’’
She fooled with the clasp.
Snap. Unsnap
.
“But then you knew that, right?’’ I asked.
Snap. Unsnap. Snap. Unsnap
.
Snap.
I persisted. “How’d you find out Kenny was coming in?’’
“I stopped at Gladys’ today for a take-out coffee. Charlene told me while I was standing at the counter, putting sugar in my cup. Her nephew’s girlfriend’s mama works as a police dispatcher. She said Kenny was probably guilty.’’
D’Vora went back to playing with her purse, while I unraveled the genesis of a ruined reputation. The mother told her daughter, who told her boyfriend, who told his Aunt Charlene, the waitress at Gladys.’ She told D’Vora, and who knows how many other customers. D’Vora buzzed back to Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow, town beehive for gossip. With its usual efficiency, the Himmarshee Hotline went on to convict Kenny hours before he even showed up at the police station.
It didn’t matter that he was appearing voluntarily. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been charged. The killing of Camilla Law had shaken the community. The community wanted justice—preferably instant justice.
I scanned the crowd of looky-loos, perhaps a few dozen people. I was surprised there weren’t more.
A TV news crew from Orlando had made the trip, drawn south by the scent of sex and violence wrapped up in one scantily clad murder victim. A couple of teenaged girls with blown-out hair and freshly glossed lips waved at the camera. The reporter was interviewing Junior Odom, a hulking man-child in bib overalls and a bare chest. Junior normally spent his days sitting on an overturned milk crate behind the supermarket, playing with a ball of string. Everyone knew he wasn’t right in the head. Why did TV people always gravitate to the one person who was sure to make the town look bad?
I asked D’Vora the question right out: “Do you think Kenny did it?’’
Snap.Unsnap.Snap.Unsnap.Snap …
“Look at me!’’ I grabbed her hand. “Do you think he murdered that woman?’’
She pulled away, rubbed at her thumb. “I know what I saw with
my own two eyes: The two of them bumpin’ boots in Kenny’s truck.
And I know about men.’’ Her tone was defiant. “Maybe they were having sex, and things got out of hand. Maybe somebody threatened to tell Maddie, and Kenny got scared. How much do we really know about him anyway?’’
I stared at her, incredulous. “He’s lived here his whole life, D’Vora. I bet he sold insurance policies to your parents and
their
parents.’’
She crossed her arms over her chest. “He wasn’t born here.’’
“You’re right. He moved here in the third grade, from one county
over.’’
I could see she’d made up her mind. That worried me. If D’Vora, with her ties to Mama and the rest of my family, was ready to see Kenny fry for murder, then public opinion was definitely building against him.
“Just keep an open mind, that’s all I’m asking. There are things going on in this town that you would not believe. Shady things. Suspect people. Kenny got himself caught up in some dangerous games; but I am certain someone else killed Camilla.’’
She raised a skeptical brow. “You’re certain?’’
Until that moment, I hadn’t said it out loud. But yes, I
was
certain. I’d seen Kenny cradle his newborn daughter, tears of joy in his eyes. I’d watched him care for Maddie through miscarriages; through a cancer scare; through the years of them growing older and comfortable—maybe complacent? Always, I’d seen nothing from him but love for his family and kindness toward others. He may have set out to have a middle-aged fling. Many men do. But murder? No way.
I nodded. “I’m certain.’’
She shrugged. “Well, I guess we’ll see if your detective beau agrees
with you.’’
On that troubling thought, I went off to find Marty, Mama, and Sal. After my morning phone call with Henry, I’d provided all of them a condensed version of last night’s events. I’d told them about the note and sex collar, the shooting, and my collision with the gate. All I left out was my blowup with Carlos. I couldn’t even begin to explain that.
The three of them had commandeered a picnic table in the shade, where some of the police department’s civilian staff liked to eat lunch. I hoped someone discovered something that would link anyone else but Kenny to Camilla’s murder. I joined them, planting my flag on our pro-Kenny island amid an ocean of anti-Kenny forces.
At the TV crew’s urging, Junior displayed his sign, complete with
misspellings, for the camera:
A Eye for A Eye. Venjance for Camela
.
“I’m amazed he got the word ‘eye’ right,’’ Sal said.
Mama tsked. “It’s a good thing Maddie’s not here to see all this.’’
She pointed with her chin to the glamour-girl teens. “Those two are locals. You know they must have had Maddie for their principal in middle school.’’
“Maybe that’s why they’re standing with the anti-Kenny people.’’ I winced as Marty pinched my arm.
“I simply cannot believe D’Vora. That traitor!’’ Mama harrumphed. “Look at her over there, gossiping with the stringy-haired blonde with the sign.’’
Heads together, the two women whispered. Whatever D’Vora revealed made the blonde rear back. Her penciled-on eyebrows arched up like arrows.
“The mood out here is pretty ugly,’’ Marty said. “Whatever happened to the concept of ‘innocent until proven guilty’?’’
“Speaking of,’’ I said, “did y’all find out anything useful today? Anything that will help prove somebody else is guilty?’’
Mama spoke first. “Those sex swingers are trying to get some new
members. Some gal I know from bingo came to the salon today. Told us we should start offering Brazilian waxes to take care of
…
” Mama cupped her hand to her mouth; lowered her voice to a whisper “
…
hair down there.’’
When Marty looked at her blankly, Mama made a ripping motion
over her groin. “Apparently, being bald downstairs makes things sexier when they have an orgy.’’
“Rosie!’’ said Sal, shocked.
“I’m just telling you what she said. Anyway, she’s trying to recruit some new members. She invited me to come sometime.’’
Sal choked, barely able to get the words out. “Absolutely not!’’
Mama narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t need you to tell me no, Sally. I’m a Bible-believing, churchgoing woman. I don’t even have to ask myself What Would Jesus Do? I can pretty much guarantee you He would not sign up for a swingers’ party.’’
“I’ve got some information, too, though mine isn’t Triple X-rated
like Rosie’s.’’ Sal aimed a pointed look at her.
She smoothed at her hair. “Not TripleX, Sally. One X, at the most.’’
When had Mama become such an expert on the relative shadings of X-ratings?
“Whaddever. I think it’s relevant. We all know something has
been going on out at that golf course. Kenny’s been involved. Camilla
was, too.’’ Sal pulled a cigar from his pocket. “Angel and I had an interesting conversation about the club pro today.’’
“Angel?’’ Mama’s mouth was tight with disapproval. “Talk about X-rated.’’
Sal, wisely, ignored her. “She said not to buy Jason’s dumb, good-guy act. He knows a lot more than he pretends to. He pulls a lot of strings out there, Angel said, in cahoots with the mayor’s wife.’’
“Humph! I’m not sure I trust that barmaid. She’s definitely no angel.’’ Mama folded her arms over her chest. “By the way, I hope you’re not intending to light that stink-bomb cigar out here. It’s sure to give Marty a migraine.’’
“I’m fine, Mama. Really.’’ Marty offered Sal an apologetic smile.
He gave the cigar a last, loving stroke before he slid it back into his shirt pocket. “Angel is just a hardworking gal, trying to make an honest living.’’
I wasn’t sure about Sal’s assessment of Angel’s upstanding character. But I could see a storm brewing on Mama’s face. I wasn’t about to let us get sidetracked by one of her jealous snits. I changed the subject.
“Marty, what’d you find out at the library?’’
“Something interesting: Prudence is applying for Camilla’s old job.’’
“And the body’s not even cold? That’s kind of weird,’’ I said.
“I thought she’d be going back to Atlanta,’’ Sal said.
Marty shrugged. “Apparently not. Prudence told my boss it made her feel close to her sister to stay in her house, right here in Himmarshee.’’
Mama tapped her cheek, thinking. “Hmmm. Now what do y’all make of that?’’
All of us were quiet, perhaps considering the question. Something about Prudence and her sister’s house tugged at my brain. She’d confessed she and Camilla were estranged. I reran the mental filmstrip of the barbecue dinner at Mama’s, and the look that flickered so briefly over Prudence’s face. I suspected the rift went deeper than she admitted. She wouldn’t be the only person in the world to wait until a relative is dead to wish she’d reached out to reconcile in life.
As I glanced around the crowded parking lot, my attention was diverted by the arrival of Elaine Naiman. I was shocked to see her limping through the ranks of the Kenny-haters. When she waved and smiled at me, I realized she was coming over to join our small group instead. Sal got up to give her his seat.
“How’s the ankle?’’
“Better, thanks.’’ She eased herself onto the bench; wiggled her foot slowly. “It’s not as swollen, but it’s still a bit sore.’’
She peeked over both shoulders and hushed her voice, like a spy trading secrets. “I’ve got some news.’’
Four expectant faces gazed at her. She gave me a quizzical look.
“They’re family,’’ I answered the question she hadn’t voiced. “They know everything I know. We’ve all been trying to find information that will make anyone but Kenny look guilty.’’
“Well, I’m not sure this will help, but guess what I found out about our friend, the mayor.’’
“What?’’ Sal, Marty, and I asked at once.
Mama put a pout in her voice. “She said ‘guess.’”
I felt my eyes roll. “It’s not a game, Mama. It’s a figure of speech
. Go on, Elaine.’’
“He’s into rough sex; and I know where he indulges his fantasies.’’
forty-six
The insistent blare of
a car horn made me jump. The protestors in front of the police department stirred. Henry piloted his Lexus through the jostling throng. In the passenger seat, a white-faced Kenny stared straight ahead.
A whisper grew into a wave of sound.
“That’s him!’’ someone cried.
“It’s Kenny Wilson, the murderer!’’ said another.
Mama climbed on top of the picnic table. “Y’all should be ashamed of yourselves!’’ She was using her Sunday school teacher’s voice, and it carried across the crowd. “A lot of you have known Kenny all your lives. He is
not
the killer. He might have information the police need to find out who is. That’s the only reason he’s here.’’
Some members of the crowd looked embarrassed, eyes on the ground. Others, more bold, shouted Mama down: “Justice for Camilla!’’ one yelled.
Another voice rang: “No mercy for murderers!’’
The hissing began as Kenny opened the car door. The volume grew, until the whole parking lot sounded like a writhing mass of snakes. Junior stepped forward, shaking his sign in Kenny’s face. Henry batted it away. My brother-in-law stuck his hands deep in his pockets, hunching his shoulders as if he wanted to disappear. The skanky blonde leaned in and spat. A glob of mucous coursed down Kenny’s cheek. He tilted his head, trying to wipe it off with one raised shoulder.
“Killer!’’ The blonde’s veins popped on her scrawny neck; her voice throbbed with hatred.
The TV camera caught everything.
I was just glad Maddie wasn’t there. Her husband was a pitiful sight, the very picture of shame and humiliation. Was it seeing friends and neighbors taunt and belittle him? Or, God forbid, was it guilt over what he had in fact done?
Henry and Kenny had almost made it to the entrance when the front doors swung open. Carlos stepped out. The reporter surged forward, the cameraman right behind her.
“Is Kenny Wilson a suspect in the murder?’’ She thrust her micro
phone toward Carlos, who batted it away.
“No comment.’’
The reporter aimed the mic again, poking it at Carlos’s chin. “Are you arresting him?’’
Carlos answered the question with a nonverbal glare. He took Kenny by the elbow, pushing back the reporter and the rest of the crowd with his other hand. Our eyes met. Carlos’s were unreadable—as cold and dark as a cavern deep beneath the surface of a freshwater spring. My eyes, I’m sure, were sparking fury. Would it have killed Carlos to allow Kenny to walk under his own power through those police department doors?
I knew exactly what footage would lead the evening newscast: My sister’s husband, being escorted through a jeering crowd by a grim-faced homicide detective. His defense attorney was plastered to his side—just like every other guilty S.O.B. hauled in to perform a perp walk for TV.
When the doors closed behind the three men, I glanced at Sal. He shook his head. “That don’t look good for Kenny.’’
“No kidding,’’ I said. “And I’m fixin’ to do something about that.’’
_____
Marty and I stood outside the NoTell Motel, following up on the
tip from Elaine Naiman. Someone in her book club reported a mayor
sighting, along with a rumor about sexual bondage, at the sleazy hotel. My sister and I decided to see if we could confirm that.
The sun was dropping in the sky. The motel’s neon sign buzzed and popped, lighting up for the evening. Or, at least some of it was. With its burned-out letters, the sign read
NoT
M
el
. Only a few vehicles besides Marty’s were parked in the lot. Beaten and battered, they all had a lot of miles on them—not unlike the beds at the NoTell.
A cluster of aluminum lawn chairs sat empty on the pool deck, th
eir plastic webbing frayed and gaping. Cracks and weeds cut trails across the dirty gray of the deck. A couple of feet of rainwater had collected at
the bottom of the unused pool—green, scummy, and harboring who knows what kind of nasty creatures. Not unlike the motel itself.
Marty slapped at a mosquito on her neck. “Lovely place.’’
“I don’t think anyone comes here for the amenities.’’ A roach scurried onto the deck from a wadded fast-food bag. I squashed it under my boot. “You ready?’’
“As I’ll ever be. Hey, Mace, when we talk to the hotel clerk, could I be ‘bad cop’ for a change?’’
My sweet sister putting the screws to someone to extract info? “Sure,’’ I said. “Knock yourself out.’’
The front door stuck when we tried to enter the lobby. Heavy
rains and humidity had swollen the old wood. I gave it a kick. It inched open, making a horror-film creak. Small and dim, the lobby
looked like it was lit with a single twenty-watt bulb. It stank of stale cigarettes and fried food.
An immensely fat man sat behind the counter, watching a game show on TV. He slurped from a sixty-four-ounce convenience store soda in a superhero cup. It looked like a small keg in his hand, which was boyish and surprisingly delicate. His stained T-shirt, ripped at the neck, failed to cover the bottom third of his substantial gut.
The TV switched to a commercial, and he looked up at us. “Well,
two beautiful ladies. Don’t see that too much here. Y’all can get a room
for an hour; or pay the half-day rate and have yourselves a nice, long session of fun.’’
I realized he thought we were a couple. Marty must have caught on at the same moment, because her face turned as red as a cherry tomato. So much for her playing the tough one.
“We don’t need a room,’’ I said. “We’re just looking for a friend of
ours. Big guy. Drives a dark sedan with campaign bumper stickers.’’
The clerk gave me a sly smile. His nametag said Timothy. “You mean His Honor, our mayor?’’
Well, that was easy.
“A police detective has already been here. I told him all about the
mayor.’’
Marty and I exchanged glances. I’m sure my face looked as surprised as hers did.
“Carlos Martinez?’’ she asked.
Timothy riffled through messy stacks of papers and empty take-out containers on the counter. Extracting a business card, he held it at arm’s length and squinted to read it in the dim light. “One and the same,’’ he said. “I’ll tell you what I told him. I almost had a maid quit after the last time the mayor rented a room here with a lady friend.’’
“Was his friend Camilla Law, the woman who was murdered?’’ I asked.
“Couldn’t tell. When I saw the lady, she was carrying a whip and
wearing nothing but black stockings with garters and some kind of hood. I couldn’t see her face, not that I was looking there.’’
He leered, showing a mouthful of decayed and broken teeth. Must be all that soda.
“How did you come to see her?’’ Marty asked.
“Another guest complained to the maid about the racket they were making in that room.’’
“Do you get many complaints like that?’’ she asked.
“Not usually. Our guests tend to be … uhmm … tolerant.” He took a long swallow from his bucket o’ beverage. “That night, though, there was the sound of screaming and furniture banging. I think the other guest was scared someone was getting murdered.’’
That word seemed to jolt both Marty and me. The clerk clarified. “Nobody was. They were into role-playing, not bloodshed.’’ He sucked on his straw; drew in air. Pulling a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew from under his counter, he refilled the empty plastic cup. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, I saw the superhero was the Hulk.
“Anyway, the maid went up and knocked at the door. His Honor yelled ‘C’mon in.’ She did, and got an eyeful. There he was, spread eagled on the bed. He was naked as a baby, except for a dog collar around his neck. Black fur handcuffs held his wrists at the headboard. His ankles were trussed up with black leather straps, tied to the footboard.’’
Timothy’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, and sent it straight to voice mail.
“The maid said he wiggled his tongue at her like a snake, pumped his pelvis up and down, and begged her to join their little party.’’
“Ewww,’’ Marty said.
“Exactly!’’ He chuckled, his laughter trailing off to a smoker’s
wheeze. “The maid came running into the office in tears. I don’t have
too many rules here, but nobody harasses my staff. Especially the ones who aren’t eighteen yet.’’
“So,’’ I said, “chivalry isn’t dead after all.’’
“Absolutely. When I marched over to their room, the woman answered the door. Like I told you, she was wearing this hood deal. She said they were sorry; things had gotten a little out of hand.’’
“Did the mayor say anything?’’ I asked.
“Not a peep. His head was turned to the wall. When he left, he asked me to apologize to the maid for him, and left her an envelope with fifty bucks. He slipped me a Benjamin
…
”
Marty cocked her head in a question.
“A hundred-dollar bill,’’ I said. “Ben Franklin.’’
“Right. He gave me the dough, and said he’d appreciate my
discretion.’’
“Misspent money, huh?’’ I said.
“I told you, I don’t like people messing with my staff. I don’t owe him a thing. Besides, I voted for the other guy.’’
“Me too,’’ Marty said.
“All that sanctimonious stuff he was spouting during the campaign about family values? It really turned me off. Turns out it was all bullshit anyway. Typical hypocritical politician.’’
He inhaled more soda. “Hey, would you girls like to join me for dinner? I get off in about twenty minutes.’’
“Naw, but thanks,’’ I said. “My sister has to get home to her husband and I’m engaged.’’ I held up my left hand, remembering too late I’d removed the ring after Carlos and I argued. The lack of lobby light worked in my favor. Timothy didn’t seem to notice my finger was bare.
While we said our goodbyes, I dug into my pocket, my fingers touching the ring. It felt hot, somehow, like it was going to burn my skin. Why hadn’t Carlos said anything about the mayor while he was lambasting me for withholding information about Kenny? Who didn’t trust whom?
Marty and I were almost to the door when I stopped and turned around.
“What did the woman in the mayor’s room sound like?’’
Timothy thought for a moment. “Classy. Like the ladies on public TV.’’
“Like Masterpiece Thea-tuh?’’ Marty asked, doing her best Downton
Abbey impression.
“Exactly.’’ He drained the Hulk cup; wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “She had an English accent.’’
forty-seven
The Friday morning air
smelled of bacon frying and coffee brewing. Marty and I stood outside Maddie’s door, waiting for her to let us in.
“Maybe she’s feeling better,’’ Marty said, sniffing at the cooking smells. “I wonder if she’ll have pancakes, too?’’
That would be the old Maddie. She placed pancakes at the very apex of her food pyramid.
Mama parked, and hurried up the walkway to wait with us at the closed door. The kitten heels on her persimmon-colored sandals
click-clicked
all the way.
“Poor Maddie. She’s probably not even able to drag herself out of bed. Hang on, girls. I think I’ve got one of her front door keys in here somewhere.’’
She’d barely begun pawing through her purse, in a matching persimmon, when the door swung open. A smiling Maddie stood on the other side—hair done up neatly in a French twist; lips colored a becoming shade of pink. She quickly waved us in.
“Bacon’s about to burn. Help yourselves to some coffee.’’
She surely did look better. She was wearing her doing-battle-as-principal clothes—a dark, knee-length skirt paired with a powder-blue blouse in polished cotton. On her feet: No-nonsense pumps. Over her shoulder, Maddie spoke to Marty: “I haven’t forgotten you, sister. Instead of bacon, I’m making you eggs for protein. The pancakes are just because we like them.’’
In the kitchen, Marty and I filled our favorite coffee mugs and took our seats. Mama flitted about behind Maddie, peering first over one shoulder and then the next.
“Hadn’t you better turn that flapjack now, honey?’’
Flutter, flit
. “Don’t scramble the eggs so hard.’’
Flit,
flutter
. “They’ll be as tough as an old saddle.’’
Maddie glanced at Marty and me and rolled her eyes. “I think I’ve got it covered, Mama. Why don’t you put out some plates and have a seat?’’ She turned again to the stove.
“You seem pretty chipper this morning,’’ I said to her back.
I didn’t add that this good mood was the last thing I expected. Maybe she hadn’t seen the late news last night, which led off with her cheating husband’s perp walk through shouting protestors. Maybe she hadn’t talked to Henry, who’d told me Kenny had spent the night at the Himmarshee County jail. Mama, Marty and I had
schemed to meet at Maddie’s first thing in the morning. I’d expected
us to be propping up an emotionally devastated woman. At the very least, I thought we’d be providing her with the support of her loving family.
Instead, she calmly poured batter onto a flat griddle to start another pancake. It sizzled when it met the hot pan.
“You seem surprised I seem chipper.’’ She flattened one of the flapjacks with a spatula. “Did you expect to find me with my head in the oven?’’
Mama stirred her coffee, spoon pinging against the cup.
Marty removed and re-straightened the napkins in a holder.
I contributed to the silence, my hands clasped on my lap under the table.
“Well?’’ Maddie prodded. “Did you think I’d keep moping around
here forever? I talked to Henry last night. I know y’all are trying to prove Kenny had nothing to do with this awful murder.’’
She slid the scrambled eggs into a serving bowl and covered it so they wouldn’t get cold. The plated bacon went into a toaster oven. Maddie turned the temperature dial to warm. When we still hadn’t spoken, she cleared her throat.
“I want everybody to stop tiptoeing around me. I’m not dying of some terrible disease. I’m a wife who’s been cheated on. I wasn’t the first; I won’t be the last. I know in my bones my husband is no murderer. He’s only guilty of one thing, and that’s thinking with the wrong head.’’
Mama nodded. “Been there, got the T-shirt. Kenny can get in line with all the other husbands guilty of that.’’
“I appreciate everything you’ve already done to find another suspect. I’m ready to pitch in, too.’’ Maddie pointed to the answering machine on the counter. “We can start right here, right now. Listen to this.’’
She pressed play.
Beep.
How does it feel to be married to a killer?
Beep.
No Mercy for Murderers!
“Not that nonsense,’’ she said. “This next one.’’
After the beep, there was a long pause. Then a muffled voice spoke:
The police have the wrong person in jail. Your husband didn’t kill Camilla Law. I might know who did.
Mama started to interrupt. Maddie held up a single finger, like a teacher warning an over-eager kindergartner.
The message continued.
I’m afraid to come forward. If I speak out, I could be a victim next. Tell your sister to keep hunting for the real killer. The swingers’ club holds the key.
The message ended. “Did you punch in star-69 to see the number that called you?’’ I asked.
“Of course I did: ‘Unknown.’ It was probably one of those disposable cell phones like the criminals use on TV.’’
“It sounded like they were talking through a mouthful of cotton. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, could you?’’ Marty raised her eyebrows at us.
We all shook our heads.
“Play it again,’’ Mama said.
Maddie skipped ahead to the right call.
“Wait!’’ I said, listening closely. “That’s definitely the sound of music; maybe some glasses clinking in the background.’’
“Could be a bar,’’ Maddie said.
“Great,’’ Mama said. “There are almost as many bars in this county
as there are churches.’’
“Could you hear what song was playing?’’ Marty asked me.
I shook my head.
“You need to tell Carlos about this, Mace. The police will be able
to figure out a lot more than we can from the phone message,’’ Mama said. “When are you going to see him next?’’
I took a sip of coffee. Blew on it, and then sipped again.
“Oh, no!’’ Mama grabbed my left hand and dragged it out from under the table, where I was hiding it in my lap. She waved the ring-free digit at my sisters. “I knew it!’’
I didn’t want my sorry romantic saga to distract us from helping Maddie. “We have not broken up, Mama. Things are just a little tense between us. It might be better if Sal tells Carlos about the phone call.’’
Mama dug in her heels, looked like she was ready to argue. “But—”
“—Enough!’’ Maddie slapped the table between us, startling Mama and me. “As fascinated as we are by Mace’s on-again-off-again engagement, my husband is being slandered as a murderer. Is it too much to ask that we focus on finding out who really killed Camilla, so we can clear Kenny’s name and bring him home?’’
Marty raised her coffee cup in a salute. “Hear, hear.’’
Maddie rested her hand on her belly for an instant. I doubted that Marty or Mama caught the protective gesture. They didn’t know her secret yet. She got out syrup and butter for the table; and served our pancakes from the griddle.
“By the way,’’ Maddie said, “the party is still on for tomorrow
night. I’m going to hold my head high and call it ‘Free Kenny
Wilson Night.’ Maybe we can force the real murderer to show his hand.’’
She doused her pancake with syrup, scooped up a mess of eggs, and passed the bowl to me.
As I helped myself, the pieces of a plan to unmask Camilla’s kille
r began to take shape.
forty-eight
“Have you spotted anybody
yet? Tell me what you see, Mace.’’
“Thanks for the spit shower.’’ I dried the inside of my ear, and returned Mama’s whisper. “And, no, I haven’t spotted anybody. It’s the middle of the night, and cloudy. I can barely see.’’
“Are you sure this is the right spot for the swingers’ soiree?’’ She spritzed my ear with each shushed
S
.
“You can speak up. It’s clear we’re all alone.’’
We’d driven to a secret location at the country club, stashed her car behind the closed restaurant, and took cover in the shadows of the golf cart barn. Jason had called while I was at work to invite me to the gathering.
I’d groaned into the phone. “You start at three o’clock in the morning? Are your pals vampires as well as swingers?’’
“You asked me to let you know when the next party was. Well, this is it. I’m sure you’ll find it worth your while.’’
He’d revealed the closely guarded details: On arrival, guests were to knock four times, pause, and knock once more. The code word for the night was
Dandelion
. The group would meet in a large apartment kept for visiting golf pros, located beside the shed where electric carts were charged and stored.
“We have to make sure we’re not accidentally discovered. As you can imagine, these kind of parties call for absolute discretion.’’
“As discreet as you can be stark naked,’’ I said. “By the way, if I do come, I won’t be taking off my clothes. I’ll only be there as an observer.’’
He laughed. “That’s what they all say.’’
My Jeep was still being processed by the cops. It hadn’t taken much effort to persuade Mama to drive me to the golf course, especially after the message on Maddie’s machine implied the swingers were the key to everything. I wanted to find out more about them, especially the mayor. I had a hunch he was involved in Camilla’s murder. I needed to know how.
I stood now at the front of the cart shed, watching the entrance to the vacant parking lot. Mama was half-concealed behind a boxy silver machine that dispensed practice balls for the driving range. I had no intention of showing my hand—or anything else—until we’d staked out the situation.
Mama reminded me—again—of her ground rules for our recon
naissance mission: “I am
not
taking part in any of that funny business.’’
“And you think I am?’’ I said.
“I don’t know what you’re up to now that you’ve broken things off with Carlos. Maybe you’re in the market for a little excitement.’’
“First of all, I haven’t broken it off. I told you we’re taking a rest. And second, I’m not interested in that kind of excitement.’’
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Mace.’’
Once I finished sputtering, I planned to pursue that line of inquiry with Mama. Just then, though, I heard a car approach. I raised my hand to signal her to hush. “Head’s up. Here’s our first guest.’’
Stepping out from behind the ball dispenser, she craned her neck
to peek around me.
A second car followed close behind the first. In the flash of its headlights, I saw the mayor’s shapely “aide” climb from the front seat of
the first car. Another young woman, the one who’d been interview
ing for a job in his office, got out of the back. When the driver
exited, I was not surprised to see it was Angel. She caressed the cheek
of the mayor’s aide, and gave the job-seeker’s bottom a friendly pat.
The aide—Ruby? Diamond?—adjusted a halter top, hefting first one breast, and then the other. Her already considerable cleavage was now pumped up to its most flattering display. Licking her lips, Angel grazed her fingers across the aide’s chest.
“I knew there was something fishy about that barmaid!’’ Mama hissed.
The trio teetered toward the apartment in tight tops, micro-minis,
and impossibly high heels. Angel unlocked the door and stepped in first. Light flooded out through the windows.
Five guys piled out of the second vehicle, a red SUV. The smell of men’s cologne and cigar smoke wafted our way as they made their way to the apartment. The SUV was familiar. I’d bet it was the same one that terrorized us and several other drivers along the stretch of highway near Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow. I also recognized the tallest man in the group as the developer with the gold watch who had visited Himmarshee Park with the mayor. I’d wondered that day about his smirking innuendoes about threesomes and foursomes. Now they made sense.
I scanned the cluster of men, recognizing a couple more from the day at the park. The mayor was not with them. Jason hadn’t shown yet, either. The tallest man counted out the requisite five knocks. “Dandelion,’’ he said, and the door opened.
Next, a convertible sports car roared up. I thought it might have
been a Porsche; a car not often seen among the pickups and dilapidated beaters driving the local roads. A well-preserved, silver-haired couple extricated themselves from the low-slung seats. The man’s ample stomach made me wonder how he could fit behind the wheel to drive. The woman wore something short, tight, and golden. It shimmered in the light from the windows as they approached the porch.
“Do you know them?’’ I asked in a low voice.
Mama shook her head. “Probably drove up from Palm Beach. With that hair, she’d look better in silver sequins than gold.’’
“I’m sure she’d appreciate the fashion tip. Maybe you can write a column for the newspaper: What to wear to a sex party.’’
A sharp poke on the arm made me shut my mouth.
The man from the sports car rapped five times, and whispered the code word. Angel answered the door. She draped a hand over each of their shoulders, welcoming them. Her fingers slid down their chests, giving each what looked like a nipple tweak. The woman tittered; her date returned Angel’s pinch, goosing her in the rear end.
“How many are in there now?’’ Mama asked.
I tallied up the swingers: the mayor’s gals, Angel, and the granny from the Porsche made four women. The old broad’s beau and the five guys from the SUV made six men. I held up both hands, ten fingers outstretched.
“Quite a get-together,’’ Mama said.
“No Mr. or Mrs. Mayor, though. I expected to see them.’’
She stepped around me, her eyes searching the dark parking lot. “Maybe they’re still on their way.’’
I glanced at my watch: Three-twenty-five.
“I think everybody’s here. I’m going a little closer. They might talk about Kenny, or the murder. I want to be able to see, or at least hear, what’s going on inside.’’
From what I’d seen so far, Camilla’s murder seemed to be the last thing on the party guests’ minds.
“Are you sure you want to do that, Mace?’’ Mama grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t you want to find out what they do?’’ I asked.
“I can guess,’’ she said. “I know where all the parts go.’’
After a bit of arguing, I finally left Mama hiding in the cart barn. I crept to the apartment, trying to skirt the light shining from
the windows. Stealthily, I mounted the steps to the porch. I stopped in my tracks when the bottom stair creaked behind me. A ripple of fear rolled down my spine. My breath caught in my throat. Slowly, I turned …
…
and saw Mama, her hands over her mouth and her eyes as wide as saucers. “Sorry,’’ she whispered through her fingers. “I changed my mind.’’
The creak may have given me a scare, but I doubted if anyone inside heard it. The music was loud, and so was the chatter. A male voice boomed, “Take it off!’’ Shrill, girlish laughter followed.
I pulled Mama onto the porch. Holding tight to her elbow, I propelled her to the darkest corner. We both inched along the side
of the wall to a spot by a window. I pointed at my eye, then at the
window
, motioning her to look inside. At the same time, we both peeked through the glass from our respective corners. Mama gasped
. I may have, too.
The two girls from the mayor’s office were naked from the waist up, writhing in an erotic embrace. The silver-haired fox from the Porsche was the male filling in the middle of their female sandwich. Mrs. Silver-Hair watched from a couch, fiddling with what looked like metal clamps on her bare breasts.
One of the suits tossed off his tie. He’d just begun to unbutton his dress shirt when I felt something jab into my lower back. “Stop it, Mama.’’
“Stop what?’’
I felt the pressure again, more insistent this time.
“No sense in standing outside looking in. Why don’t you and your mum come in and join the party?’’
The voice was clipped and ice-cold. The accent was English.
forty-nine
Prudence Law glared at
Mama and me. She repeatedly slapped the palm of her hand with what looked like a horse-riding crop. She was dressed in a getup very similar to what her murdered sister wore when we found her body at the dump: leather bustier with laces and studs, black stiletto heels, and fishnet hose. Instead of the spiky dog collar, though, Prudence wore a severely symmetrical wig, in neon blue. Black fur handcuffs hung from one of the many silver buckles on her bustier.
It looked like the conservative dark suit and the white blouse with the Peter Pan collar had been moth-balled for the evening.
“Well?’’ She traced the swell of my breasts with the tip of her leather crop. “Are you interested in
coming
inside?’’
She lowered the crop, stroking at my groin. “You can take the meaning of that verb either way you want.’’
“Not tonight.’’ I stepped back, crossing my arms over my private parts to block the crop. “Not ever.’’
“Not so fast, honey.’’ Mama took a quick peek through the window. “I’m not saying you should go inside, but that tall one with the gold watch is kind of cute. Just keep him in mind as a Plan B man if you and Carlos don’t get back together.’’
“Sure. He’s a developer
and
a sexual deviant. We sound like a match made in heaven.’’ I folded both arms over my chest and looked
at Prudence. “I’m not interested in your little party or my mother’s notion of Mr. Plan B.’’
She raised an eyebrow at Mama. “What about you? Interested?’’
Mama smoothed her hair. “I don’t need to get my kicks with this
kind of thing. My husband, Sal, is
very
satisfying in the sex department, thank you very much. I’ve always loved a man who isn’t afraid to—”
“—I think we’ve got enough information, Mama.’’ I turned to Prudence. “Nice outfit. Did you find that in your sister’s closet?’’
A flicker of sadness crossed her face. Tears welled in her darkly shadowed, heavily made-up eyes. I felt like I’d just kicked a kitten. A dominatrix kitten, but still.
“Sorry. I’m just surprised to see you here. I thought you told us at dinner that dangerous sex was Camilla’s deal, not yours.’’
An image of Prudence making herself at home so quickly in Camilla’s house flashed into my mind. I suddenly knew what had been nagging at me. “In fact, you seem to act a lot like Camilla. You know a lot about her, too, considering you were so estranged.’’
She and Mama looked equally perplexed.
“What are you driving at?’’ Prudence said.
“You told me you’d never been to Camilla’s house, yet you knew exactly where to look for her booze. That hidden bottle opener, too.’’
“Our parents always kept their liquor on the top closet shelf. It seemed likely Camilla would, too. As for the other, my sister and I lived together when we were younger. I constantly misplaced the bottle opener until she thought of putting it out-of-the-way, on the wall side of the fridge.’’
As I stared at her, something about her costume tugged at my brain. Exactly what remained just out of reach. I gestured at her sexy garb, and asked a general question instead. “What about those clothes, and being here tonight? You were very clear Camilla was the one with dark tastes.’’
Mama nodded. “Mace is right. When you came to dinner, you said you disapproved. ‘For such a clever girl, Camilla could be quite stupid.’ That’s what you said about your sister.’’
Now, both of us stared at Prudence. She wouldn’t meet our eyes. Her head was down, and that bright blue wig cloaked her face. She traced a figure eight against her thigh with the leather crop.
Suddenly, I had an epiphany. “Did you want to
be
Camilla, the golden-girl sister?’’ Mama gasped as I blurted out the question. “You’re going to live in her house. You’ve asked for her job at the library. Did you kill your sister to take over her life?”
Prudence’s head snapped up. “So I’m the evil twin? You can’t be serious.’’
The incredulous look on her face and her derisive tone made me feel less sure of my theory than I’d felt a moment before. Mama’s sharp pinch didn’t help my confidence, either.
“I think you’ve internalized a plot from some insipid show on your American telly.’’
A long sigh escaped Prudence’s lips. They were colored blood-red, and outlined in an even darker shade. “The truth is my sister’s murder has reminded me of thoughts—desires—I thought I had extinguished.”
Quietly, she knuckled away tears. They left streaks of ultra-black mascara under her eyes. We waited for her to continue. Not even Mama uttered a word.
“Camilla and I did things like this regularly when we were young
. We dressed alike.’’ She waved the crop up and down, indicating her leather garb. “We role-played. Sometimes I was the dominant one; sometimes she was. Sometimes, we both were. We liked that best. Being subjugated by identical twins excited men … us, too, to be honest.’’
“I’ve always heard English men have a thing for being spanked. Is that true?’’ Mama asked.
“Where in the world did you hear that?’’ I said.
“Around,’’ she answered, with unsatisfying vagueness.
“It is true,’’ Prudence said, “but it’s not just English men.’’
Mama’s eyes got wide. “Well, who else—”
I cut her off before she could begin inquiring into the sexual practices of all the member states of the United Nations. “How can
you party with these people?’’ I asked Prudence. “One of them might
have killed your sister.’’
She narrowed her eyes. “From what I hear, your brother-in-law killed my sister. I expect he got carried away. Some people aren’t capable of knowing when to stop.’’ The chilly tone had returned. “Not that it will bring back Camilla, but I take some comfort in knowing he’ll be punished. I understand Florida employs an electric chair.’’
“Not anymore,’’ Mama said. “They retired Ol’ Sparky from Death
Row after a couple of condemned men caught fire during their
executions.’’
“How barbaric.’’ Prudence shuddered.
“We give them the needle now,’’ Mama added.
“Kenny is not getting the needle, because he didn’t do it,’’ I said. “If one of my sisters had been murdered, I’d be out trying to find out who killed her. I wouldn’t be dressed up like Halloween for a swingers’ session.’’
Prudence glared at me, crop hitting leather-clad thigh.
“Now, girls
…
”
Prudence interrupted Mama, words exploding from her mouth. “The point is your sister was
not
murdered. Mine was. I needed a distraction from my grief. A release, if you will. When Angel asked me to come tonight, I leapt at the chance to lose myself for a few hours.”
Mama nodded agreeably. “That’s certainly understandable.’’
“Whose side are you on?’’ I asked her.
Ignoring me, Mama lowered her voice and nudged Prudence in the ribs. “So, what will y’all do in there?’’
“Wouldn’t you like to know? There’s only one sure way to find out.’’ She pointed to the door with the riding crop.
I sneaked a peek through the window. The granny was kneeling in front of one of the suits. He wasn’t wearing his suit.
If I were alone, I might have considered going inside, partly out of curiosity and partly to see what I could find out about this crowd. But with my Sunday-school-teaching mother in tow? No way. Before Mama could barge through the door, I answered for both of us.
“We’ll take a rain check. Would you do me a favor, though? Ask Angel to call me as soon as she can. I’d like to know a little bit more about tonight’s invitees.’’
“Angel’s the one with all the answers.’’ Prudence struck a mysterious tone.
“Not Jason?’’ I asked. “He’s the one who told me to come tonight.’’
She snorted. “Jason is a pretty boy-toy, nothing more. Angel calls the shots.’’
She placed the crop under Mama’s chin, lifting her face. “So you’re curious about spanking, are you?’’ She stared into Mama’s eyes, affecting a strict headmistress voice. “Have you been a bad girl, Rosalee?’’
“Never!’’ Mama said.
Prudence smiled, switched to her normal voice. “You’re supposed to say yes.’’
“Okay, yes.’’
The muscles flexed in Prudence’s slender arm, as taut as steel cords. The crop made a
swish
as it cut through the air. She brought it down, hard, against Mama’s bottom.
“Ouch!’’ Mama’s hand flew to her rear end. “That’s not sexy. It stung like a nest of wasps.’’
“Pain is pleasure, Rosalee. Remember that.’’ Prudence tucked the crop under one arm and lit a cigarette. A curl of smoke rose.
“That was not pleasure; it was pure pain.’’ Mama rubbed her butt.
“I can tell you one thing. If Sal spanked me that hard, I’d knock him out with a frying pan. That man never even leaves a mark.”
I put my hands over my ears. “Have you never heard the phrase, ‘Too Much Information,’ Mama?’’
_____
Jason did not show, and neither did the Grafs. We stayed on the porch until the party inside moved to a more intense phase. I heard the slap of Prudence’s crop against naked flesh. There were muffled shrieks and moans of pleasure. The music switched from loud rock to seductive rhythm and blues. “Let’s Get it On,’’ indeed. When the light through the windows dimmed, I took that as our exit cue.
Crossing to the parking lot, I slid a small penlight from my pocket. “Got anything to write with?’’ I whispered.
Mama dug in her purse, pulling out a pen and a bank withdrawal slip. I shone the light on the Porsche, reading off the license numbers as she wrote them down. Sure enough, the tag holder advertised a luxury car dealer in Palm Beach County. We moved around to the other vehicles, recording each tag number. I may have come to look for the mayor, but I found several other people who shared his kinky tastes. Registered owners of vehicles are public records in Florida. I had no intention of relying solely on Angel to reveal the invitees on her party list.
I needed their names for my suspect list.
fifty
“I’m as full as
a tick on a fat dog. Why’d you let me have that second piece of butterscotch pie, Mace?”
“I didn’t put a gun to your head. I told you it wasn’t a good idea to follow a big breakfast with a double serving of pie at four-thirty in the morning.’’
“I just want to climb into my nice soft bed and go to sleep.’’ Mama yawned.
We’d been wound up after our excursion to the swingers’ soi
ree. I suggested a trip to the twenty-four-hour truck stop in Sebring
for ham, eggs, and hashed browns. I’d taken over driving halfway back to Himmarshee. As I looked across the front seat of Mama’s big convertible, I saw her eyelids fluttering, and her head dropping down toward her chest.
Now, the radio was turned up and the windows were rolled down. I told her she had to stay awake and talk to me until I got us to my house. I already regretted that, and we weren’t even halfway there.
“What do you think you’ll do about Carlos? Is it over for good? Do you think you’d be in this situation if you’d taken my advice?’’
“Hmm?’’ I said, acting distracted. “This mess with Kenny is really on my mind. I thought we could go over who we think are likely suspects to have killed Camilla.’’
Mama took up the challenge. “My money’s on the mayor. He’s as sleazy as they come, playing around with all those different girls.’’
I told her what Marty and I had discovered about his S & M encounter at the NoTell Motel with a woman with an English accent.
“That seals it,’’ she said. “His partner had to be Camilla. They were involved in some kind of sexual game. It got out of hand. He accidentally killed her, but he couldn’t report it. Not with him spouting off all during his campaign about family values. So, he dumped her body to get rid of the problem.’’
I knew she could be right. Still, I felt there was more to the story of the mayor and Camilla than we knew.
“Who else had a good reason to want her dead?’’
“You mean besides Kenny?’’ Mama asked.
I cut my eyes at her. “Obviously.’’
“I’m just trying to think like your former fiancé would. And speaking of that, I have some ideas about how you could win Carlos back.’’
“Could we attend to the matter at hand?’’
She slid across the bench seat and placed her finger with the giant wedding ring over my left hand. “This is the matter at hand. Your
ring-less
hand.’’
“Mama, could you please focus on your other daughter? Her marriage is on life-support. If we let Kenny go to prison, it’s like pulling the plug. They won’t survive that.’’
I thought about Maddie’s unborn child, and his or her absent father. I thought about that child, growing up with a convicted murderer for a daddy. I would not let that happen.
“Suspects,’’ I said. “That’s what we need to concentrate on.”
“Okay, what about the swinging barmaid, Miss Hotsy Totsy what’s-her-name?’’
“Angel.’’
“Never was a name more inappropriate.’’
“You just don’t like her. Admit it.’’
“True. But consider this: Angel was queen bee of the swinger set when Camilla moved in and started taking over. Camilla was younger and prettier. Plus, she had all those moves she learned with her twin sister. Angel was jealous. She killed Camilla so she could get back her power again.’’
I scanned the oncoming lane. Seeing no traffic, I pulled around a pokey tractor. “Hmmm, that scenario has potential. But Angel seems more like a manipulator than a murderer. If she wanted somebody to disappear, she’d design an elaborate plan or trick someone else into doing the dirty work. She’s smart that way.’’
The country station on the radio started playing Hunter Hayes’
song, “Wanted.’’ I was quiet for a couple of moments, thinking. “Let’s go to the other end of the intelligence scale. What about Jason,
the golf pro? He invited me to party with the swingers tonight, and then never showed up. Why?’’
Mama punched the radio to find another station. “Who knows?
Maybe he fell asleep and slept right through it. We would have too, if I hadn’t set three alarms to wake us. Who starts a party at three o’clock in the morning? I’ve never heard of such a thing.’’
I was about to say she’d never heard of a swingers’ party, either. Then I remembered her comments about spanking and Brazilian waxes, and I kept my mouth shut. If it turned out Mama knew more about swinging than I did, I didn’t want to know why.
“There’s more to Jason than meets the eye,’’ I said. “I got the impression he has some real feelings for the mayor’s wife.’’
“No way!’’
I nodded. “If nothing else, that shows he’s more complicated than some golf course gigolo, out for a good time and a few extra dollars.’’
The sky outside was still dark. I tuned the radio away from talk and back to country music. Mama aimed the rear-view toward her so she could check her lipstick.
“What about Mrs. Mayor?’’ She pursed her apricot lips. “Maybe Jason had a thing with Camilla and Beatrice was jealous. She certainly looks strong enough to strangle a little bitty thing like Camilla.’’
“Yeah, she’s a big’un all right. But she’s out of shape, and flabby in the arms and shoulders. Moving the body by herself would be a challenge. She would have needed help.’’
Mama tapped her cheek, considering. “Didn’t Elaine do all that research and find out Beatrice’s family was in waste hauling up north? She’d know how things work at the dump.’’
“What’s to know? At our dinky dump, you pretty much drive up and dump. It’s not one of those state-of-the-art ‘solid waste landfills.’ ’’
Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I kept time with Carrie Underwood’s “Good Girl.’’ We were all alone on the lonesome road. An image came to mind of me fleeing in my Jeep, pursued and under fire.
I thought of the mayor’s wife, talking about shooting skeet. I remembered the receptionist saying the hunting trophies in His Honor’s office had actually been bagged by Mrs. Graf.
“You know,’’ I said, “Beatrice Graf is an excellent markswoman. It could have been her shooting at me, trying to scare me away from looking into the murder. If the mayor was fooling around with Camilla, Beatrice could have killed her because she was jealous. Or, she might have been afraid he’d compromise his political standing. No political standing for him, no high profile for her as the First Lady of Himmarshee. That’d be a reason for her to want Camilla out of the way.’’
“I don’t see that,’’ Mama said.
“Why not?’’
“First of all, she’s fooling around herself, with that fine-looking Jason. Being jealous about the mayor would be like craving hamburger after you’ve filled up on filet mignon. Second, didn’t she say she’d been out of town when we found the body?’’
“That’s what
she
said; the mayor acted like he didn’t agree. I didn’t confirm the alibi.’’
“Let’s hope Carlos has. Before you broke up, he might have told you that kind of information.’’
I looked at her sideways. “On what planet? Bizarro world? Carlos never shares any information with me. Besides, we are not broken up.’’
I tried to sound more certain about that than I felt.
We were both quiet for a time. The re-tuned engine of Mama’s vintage car purred. The tires thrummed on the highway. The fresh scent of a sudden rain shower blew in through the open windows. The rain passed so quickly, I didn’t bother to close them.
“What was that crazy thing you said, accusing Prudence of killing her sister? That was rude, Mace. Even for you.’’
“Prudence would be even ruder, if she did murder her sister.’’ In my mind, I saw her sitting in Camilla’s home, waiting for the bank to call. “She stands to inherit her sister’s estate. Money has always been a powerful motivator.’’
I slapped the steering wheel. “Dammit! I just remembered
another thing that bothered me about her. Remember dinner at your house, when we were talking about her sister? When Prudence mentioned the collar Camilla was wearing when she was killed, she said ‘complete with O ring.’ The police report never described it so specifically. How’d she know?’’
Mama waved a dismissive hand: “A fetish collar is a fetish collar.’’
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I didn’t want to pursue my mother’s familiarity with fetishes. I summed up instead: “How much do we know about Prudence anyway?’’
“We know she was in Atlanta when Camilla was killed.’’
“Rig
ht.’’ I rubbed my eyes. “I’m so tired, I’m not thinking straight
about anything.’’
Suddenly, I smelled the dump more than I smelled the damp air of dawn. I knew we were getting close to the county line. My little cottage wasn’t far beyond that. Maybe I’d be able to grab a couple of hours of sleep before I had to be at work at ten o’clock.
I flew past a garbage truck, idling on the shoulder of the road.
“That truck’s out early,’’ I said.
Mama yawned.
“Crap! Did I forget to put out my cans? No, wait. This is Saturday.’’
A bigger yawn.
We passed the next couple of miles in silence. In my periphery, I caught Mama nodding and blinking, trying to stay awake. My own eyeballs felt like somebody had scuffed them with sandpaper. Slowing as I neared the turnoff to my house, I maneuvered the convertible onto my oak-lined drive. That brought her back to life.
“I-I-I wi-wi-wish yo-yo-you’d ge-ge-get th-th-this dr-dr-driveway pa-pa-paved.’’
“Stop being such a baby,’’ I said.
Easing Mama’s car into my front yard, I killed the engine. She immediately pulled her smart phone from her pantsuit pocket. “I’ll just be a minute,’’ she said. “My phone’s almost out of juice, but I want to text Sal. I’m going to tell him I’ll be on my way just as soon as I stop at your house to tinkle.’’
“WTMI, Mama. Waaaaay Too Much Information. Why didn’t you go before we left the truck stop?’’
“Did you see those toilets? I decided to hold it. I don’t have to go too bad now, but I sure will by the time I drive home. You live out in the boonies, Mace.’’
“Yes, by design. I’m exactly thirteen miles from you. My lucky number.’’
She stuck out her tongue. I stood there waiting for her, until I realized she was still typing.
“You know, you could have used the bathroom already and been
on your way if you didn’t have to tweet your every movement.’’
“I’m not tweeting. I’m texting.’’
“Whatever. I’m going to bed.’’ I tossed the keys I was holding through the window and onto the floorboard.
She waved me off. “Sal’s up. He’s texting me back. You go ahead. I’ll be right in.’’
As I left, she was still in the car. Head buried in her phone, she was texting like mad.
The sun hid below the horizon, but a pink and yellow glow began to color the sky. An early-rising mockingbird sang a welcoming tune. I whistled a few notes in return, letting Florida’s feathered symbol know I appreciated the cheerful greeting.
I was just about to open my front door when a shot blasted out from the woods. Everything that unfolded next happened really fast.
I heard a hiss, and smelled propane gas.
Mama yelled, “Take cover, Mace!’’
My eyes flicked toward her. An instant later, they took in the sight of an above-ground propane tank in the side yard. I barely registered the sound of a second shot, before I saw a flash of light sparking through the air. Mama hit the ground, next to her car. I screamed her name.
I heard nothing in reply except the boom of the propane tank exploding.
fifty-one
Are there rocks in
heaven?
I hoped not, because several sharp stones jabbed into my back and butt. The ground beneath me was hard, and damp with morning dew. Smoke billowed in the air. Fire popped and crackled, burning a small outdoor shed next to the propane tank. The tank itself was gone: Blown to bits.
I raised myself to my elbows, checking to see which body parts hurt. They all did. The joints still moved, though. Familiar images began to form in blurry focus. There was my purse on the ground, twenty feet away. Had I tossed it there, or did the explosion send it flying? I saw Mama’s car, seemingly intact. The passenger door stood ajar.
Mama!
She’d dropped to the ground when the shooting started. Was she hit? Where was she now?
I struggled to my knees and blinked, trying to clear my vision. Something warm and wet coursed down from above my eyebrows. I rubbed my hand across my eyes. Even in the dimness of dawn’s light I could see blood coating my palm. A jagged hunk of white metal, now scorched black, lay near where I landed. It looked like a shard from the propane tank. Was that what hit me?
Pulling a bandana from the pocket of my jeans, I pressed it to my scalp. It came away moist, but not soaked. Gingerly, I worked my fingers from one side of my head to the other. Nothing poked back at me. No obvious fragments were embedded there.
I began crawling on all fours toward Mama’s car. Halfway there, I felt strong enough to try to stand. My legs wobbled. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I stood there swaying, as I squinted to see through the smoke and hazy light. Haltingly, I walked to the convertible, where I hung onto the door for support.
Mama was not where I’d seen her last, flat on the ground beside
her car.
Wide tire tracks criss-crossed the yard. Whatever had made them was heavy enough to sink deep into wet grass. Black mud oozed
up, filling the tread marks. As the smoke from the shed fire began to disperse, I noticed another smell. Familiar … stinky … garbage. Several small piles and black plastic bags dotted the ground like odoriferous ant mounds. Images started connecting in my brain: The too-early garbage truck, out-of-place as it idled near my home. The dump, where Mama and I had found Camilla’s body. Beatrice Graf’s family business.
Someone had taken Mama, and I thought I knew where. I prayed I wasn’t too late.
_____
The convertible swallowed the road. I was grateful for all eight
cylinders. Mama’s keys had been on the floorboard, right where I dropped them. Her cell phone was under the car, near where she’d hit the ground. Had she consciously hidden it? Or, did the phone land there because she’d been shot?
I pressed my boot against the accelerator, urging an ounce more
speed from the old Bonneville. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been unconscious, but I didn’t think it was long. The sun was still low on the horizon; the sky only dimly lit.
I grabbed Mama’s phone: The battery indicator was in the red zone, for almost-out-of-juice. I started to call Carlos … when my mind blanked. I’d phoned him by name on my speed dial for so long, I couldn’t recall the digits. My fingers scrabbled across Mama’s key pad to find the names of her favorite contacts. There was Sal, at the top. I felt a tug at my heart when I saw that I was second on the list. If Mama was safe, I vowed never to avoid her calls again.
I pressed to dial Sal, and the call went straight to voice mail. I fought to keep the panic from my voice. “Listen carefully. The phone’s nearly dead. I’m northbound on State Road 98, on my way to the Himmarshee dump. Whoever killed Camilla ambushed us at my house. They’ve got Mama, probably in a garbage truck.
Call nine-one-one. Call Carlos, and tell him to meet me there …
and Sal? Please tell Carlos I’m sorry, and that I love him.’’
I rang off before he could hear the lump in my throat squeezing my words.
Barely slowing, I swung a sharp left onto the road that led to the dump. Everything on Mama’s front seat went flying: cell phone; tissue box; bottled water. Some loose golf clubs in the back clattered to the floorboard. Sal had been trying to teach Mama a few basics of the game.
I saw taillights just ahead. Gears ground. Air brakes hissed. The noisy truck was stopping, silhouetted by a mountain of trash beyond. I cut Mama’s engine and pulled off the road, coasting to a stop behind a stand of cypress trees. It immediately occurred to me I had no weapon and no strategy beyond the element of surprise. I jumped from the car, and my eyes lit on the golf clubs. Choosing the one with the widest, heaviest metal head, I sprinted along a line of trees toward the truck.
_____
Creeping up from behind, I could see a heavy tarp thrown across the open hopper at the truck’s rear. It was a gaping metal bin,
where the contents of household cans were tossed in by the garbage
guy who normally rode on the back. On this morning, I saw just one person with the truck: the driver, who had opened the door and was about to climb from the cab. The reflection in the truck’s side mirror revealed a dark baseball cap, pulled low over the driver’s face. In sunglasses, baggy slacks, and a loose, long-sleeved shirt, it could have been anyone.
Even when the driver stepped to the ground and shut the door,
I still couldn’t tell who it was. The clothes were shapeless, and his—
or her—hair was tucked up under the cap.
At the back of the truck, no movement disturbed the tarp. My heart pounded. Was Mama hurt under there? Worse, was she dead?
As the driver crossed in front of the cab, I raced to the truck’s left side. My breath rasped out in gasps. I hoped they didn’t sound as loud as they did in my own ears. Peering under the truck, I watched booted feet moving on the other side, from front to right rear. I situated myself alongside the huge tires, careful to hide my own legs there in case the driver happened to glance underneath.
The boots stopped at the right rear corner of the truck.
In that instant, I knew my mother’s fate. The controls for the compactor were on the right rear. The driver planned to crush Mama like ninety-eight pounds of household garbage. I placed my hand against the truck’s fender and said a silent prayer. “Hang on,’’
I added, hoping Mama would sense my presence. “I will not let you
get trashed.’’
I bolted around the back of the truck. The driver’s hand was within inches of the control lever. Raising the club overhead, I swung with all my might. The sweet spot struck solidly. Howling with pain, the driver staggered backward. The hat fell off, revealing a full head of blonde hair, kissed daily by the sun on the golf course.
Jason.
“The cops are right behind me,’’ I said. “You won’t get away. Don’t make it any worse by hurting someone else.’’
He reached with his left hand to pull the lever. I wound up and swung again. The club slammed his wrist with a sickening thud. Jason squealed like a pig caught under a gate. Keeping one eye on him, I pounded the side of the truck. “Can you hear me, Mama? Give me a sign you’re okay.’’
Only silence came from inside. That bastard Jason managed to smirk at me, even through his pain. I aimed the club straight at his head. “Don’t think I won’t knock you into a coma,’’ I said. “Now, get down on the ground and stay down.’’
With Jason seated on the roadway, and my club within reach, I pulled off the tarp. The hopper brimmed with loose garbage and lumpy plastic bags. I poked my hand in, searching for anything that felt human.
A muffled
mmmppfff, mmmppfff
issued from the trashy depths. I dug frantically, tossing out trash bags as I went. My hand encountered the familiar shape of a kitten-heeled sandal. Empty. Somewhere in there was its matching persimmon mate, hopefully attached to the intact foot of my unharmed mama.
Casting out pizza boxes, clumped kitty litter, and the spoiled, slimy remains of what seemed like an entire salad bar, I unearthed a rolled-up carpet. A hank of platinum hair stuck out of the top. Panting
with effort, I hauled it out. I was thankful for Mama’s petite build and my years of lifting hay bales and feed bags. As gently as I could, I lowered the rug to the ground and unrolled it.
“
Mmmppfff! Mmmppfff!”
Duct tape covered her mouth, and bound her hands behind her back. Crushed taco shells and wet clumps of something unnaturally orange clung to her hair. A crab claw hung over one ear.
“This will hurt,’’ I warned, as I ripped the tape from her face.
She gulped in a couple of deep breaths and then shouted, “It was Prudence! She and Jason were in on it together. She’s the one who blew up your propane tank!’’
So it
was
the evil twin. I knew it.
fifty-two
I poked Jason in
the leg with the golf club. When he wouldn’t look at me, I poked him harder. “Where’s your girlfriend, Miss Fragile English Rose, now?’’
He shrugged.
“Guess this means you’re not going steady with Beatrice Graf.”
His face was hard, absent of all traces of the flirtatious, good-time guy. “I want a lawyer.’’
With my pocketknife, I sliced the duct tape from Mama’s wrists and ankles. We found the rest of the roll in the garbage truck. I taped Jason’s feet together to make sure he wouldn’t run. His club-pummeled hands were blowing up like balloons, so I didn’t bother taping them.
I detected sirens, wailing faintly in the distance. Thank God, Sal had gotten the message. The cavalry was on its way. Jason heard the sirens, too. He leaned back against the truck’s tire and dropped his head to his knees.
I turned my attention to Mama. “How’d you end up in the truck?’’
“Right after the explosion, I was still under my car. I saw Prudence come running, carrying a rifle in one hand and a bright red flare gun in the other. About the same time, this big ol’ garbage truck rumbled into your yard. She crouched over you, real calm, and checked you out. Then she shouted to the truck, ‘She’s alive.’ My own heart started beating again once I heard those words.’’
Mama’s gaze focused on the rug on the ground. She waited a beat, and then continued.
“I heard Jason’s voice call out, ‘What about the old lady? Where is
she?’ Prudence looked surprised. She probably thought you’d dropped
me off and were coming home alone.’’
“‘Old lady?’’’ I repeated. “I should have let
you
hit Jason with the golf club, Mama.’’
She gave me a weak smile. “It didn’t take long for them to find me under my car. In that haughty tone, she told Jason to ‘take care of the witness.’ That was me, Mace!’’
Breathing through my mouth, I pulled her close for a hug. I plucked the crab shell from behind her ear, and finger combed a chunk of what looked like rotten pork from her hair.
“When he rolled me up and tossed me in that truck, I saw my whole life flash by. Buried in trash was not the way I’d planned to meet my maker.’’
“It was your mother’s fault for being there, you know.’’
I glared at the newly verbal Jason.
“We only planned on scaring you by making the propane tank go boom. It was supposed to be a warning to keep away from the murder investigation, just like the note on your sister’s door. But I noticed there were two of you in the car when you passed my truck on the highway. We couldn’t leave your mother behind to tell the cops.’’
The sirens sounded closer.
“It won’t be long before Mama and I both get to do that,’’ I said.
“I’ve got it all figured out. You and Prudence conspired together to get rid of her sister. She probably had some kind of serious grudge against Camilla, who was better than her at everything. Plus, Prudence stood to inherit. You like women with money, so the two of you were a match made in heaven.’’
“What about the garbage truck?’’ Mama asked.
“Jason had Beatrice Graf wrapped around his finger,’’ I said. “He must have convinced her to pull some strings and let him use the truck.’’ I could hear the certainty in my own voice.
He smirked at me again. “You think you’re so smart, but you don’t know shit.’’
“Language, son,’’ said Mama, ever the Sunday school teacher.
Tires screeched on the highway. Sirens screamed. The first of several cop cars sailed onto the turnoff to the dump. Carlos’s car was the second one in line. Prudence sat in the back seat, her face impassive. Sal’s gold Cadillac brought up the rear of the police parade.
I pointed with the golf club at Prudence. “Looks like your girlfriend didn’t get far. She was probably trying to run when Carlos caught her. He’s good at getting people to confess. By now, she’s probably given you up, too.’’
Jason’s mouth was set in a grim line. Where were his adorable dimples now?
fifty-three
Carlos slammed on his
brakes. Prudence stared out the opposite window, as if bored by the scene in front of her. She seemed to be dressed for a morning hunting pheasants on the English moors, sporting a ladies’ tweed shooting vest over a crisp white blouse.
With a glance at his suspect in the back, Carlos got out and strode toward Mama and me.
“Are you two okay?’’
Worry clouded his eyes. The touch of his hand, stroking my face, was warm. But his voice was colder than I thought it would be. Had Sal delivered the last part of my phone message?
When I didn’t answer immediately, Mama jumped in: “We’re
fine. Though I think you should check Mace for injuries, slowly and
thoroughly.’’
I felt my face flush. Was Mama really trying to promote some hanky-panky with her would-be murderer waiting to be arrested?
I was encouraged, though, to see the hint of a smile cracking through
the granite of my ex-fiancé’s jaw.
“I’m okay.’’ I gestured toward Jason, who ducked when he saw
me point the club. “He might need some medical attention, though
.
I whacked at both his hands to stop him from compacting Mama into a trash cube.’’
Sal had arrived. He hugged Mama tight, and then bent to look at Jason. “That left wrist might be broken. Remind me not to stand too close when you’re swinging your way out of a sand trap, Mace.’’
I must have looked at him blankly, because Mama translated: “This club’s called a sand wedge, honey.’’ She touched the broad head. “You use it to try to get the ball out of a sand trap, a shot that has become unfortunately familiar to me.’’
I’d had enough golf for one day. I jerked a thumb at Carlos’s back seat. “Did the evil twin confess?’’
“No. She says she knows her rights. She asked me for a ‘bar-rister.’’’
“Her boyfriend said the same, except he wants a lawyer,’’ Mama said.
Carlos crossed his arms over his chest and focused on me, unsmiling. “You know this carelessness of yours is almost criminal.
It’s a pattern. You had no business putting yourself and your mother
into danger.’’
The lid that kept my temper from boiling over began to rattle. After what Mama and I had just been through, I expected him to
wrap me in his arms and comfort me. I hadn’t expected to be berated.
“They’re the ones who came after
us
,’’ I said. “We were minding our own business, returning home after a nice breakfast at the truck stop.’’
“Yes, after you showed up at a sex party to ‘investigate.’ Camilla clearly thought you were getting too close, which set this morni
ng’s events into motion. That much I learned before she quit t
alking.’’
“Prudence.’’ I corrected him.
“No.’’ He shook his head. “I said it right the first time. The mur
der victim was Prudence, the out-of-town sister. The killer was Camilla,
the librarian.’’
I stared at the woman in his car. She looked back, eyes cold as stones.
“Say what?’’ Mama tilted her head sideways and shook it. “I must
have gotten some garbage juice in my ear. I thought I heard you say the murdered sister was Prudence. Wasn’t she still in Atlanta when Mace and I found Camilla dead at the dump?’’
“Not according to data from Prudence’s cell phone.’’ He held up his own phone as a visual aid. “That showed she arrived in Himmarshee two days before you discovered the body. Prudence was likely strangled by Mace’s pal, Jason, aided and abetted by her own sister, Camilla.’’
I thought of the days of anguish we’d been through, when it looked like Maddie’s husband might have killed Camilla. Now, it turned out Camilla wasn’t even dead? Steam started rocking the lid on my temper pot.
“How long have you known this?’’
Carlos shrugged. “Suspecting something and getting the information I need to prove it are two different things.’’
“How long?’’
“A couple of days after you found the body. Neighbors in Atlanta saw Prudence packed and leaving for Florida last week, well before the call went out to her cell phone as Camilla’s emergency contact.’’
His gaze shifted briefly to the back of his car. His suspect stared back coldly.
“I contacted some of the twins’ old friends in England, who revealed how deep their rift really was. Camilla hated Prudence. Prudence was their parents’ favorite, and more accomplished at everything than Camilla was. She’d been jealous of her sister her whole life.’’
“And knowing all this, you allowed Kenny’s name to be dragged through the mud, despite how fragile my sister’s marriage is right now?’’ My voice had gotten louder.
Sal put a hand on my arm. “That’s police work, Mace. Sometimes you have to keep a false impression about guilt and innocence hanging out there to lure in the bad guy. Or girl, in this case.’’
I whirled to confront Sal. “Did you know, too?’’
He shook his head. Mama said, “You can’t expect Carlos to share
everything about his investigations with you, Mace. People’s lives could be at stake.’’
“So you’re on his side?’’
Mama gave me the same sad look I’d seen when she had to tell me my childhood dog was dead, fatally kicked by a horse. “Honey, this is Carlos’s job. There shouldn’t be a ‘his side’ and ‘your side’ to this. If you keep seeing things that way, maybe you’re right. Maybe you aren’t ready to be married.’’
Carlos cleared his throat. “Speaking of my job, I need to get these two processed.’’
Mama, Sal, and I watched as he read Jason his rights. He called over two more officers to help load him into the back of a squad car, since he couldn’t properly walk with duct tape around his ankles. When they were done, Carlos returned to his own car. Without a goodbye, he drove away with Camilla.
Did I want to question Sal? Did I want to know? I decided I did, even if it was humiliating or painful.
“Thanks for getting the message to Carlos,’’ I said. “Did you tell him everything I asked you to?’’
Pulling at his collar, Sal aimed his gaze on the ground. “I told him everything, Mace. Including that you were sorry and you loved him.’’
“And what did he say?’’
Sal mumbled something, his eyes avoiding mine. Mama nudged
him to repeat it. I was sorry when he did.
“He said he wished he could believe you.’’
fifty-four
A Happy Birthday banner
flapped over the entrance to the VFW hall. A cake in the shape of a monster truck dominated the room, minus the words Maddie once planned for the top—
To the World’s Best Husband
. A disc jockey spun some of the birthday boy’s favorite country tunes: “Bubba Shot the Jukebox”; “Mud on the Tires”; and “Lifestyles of the Not So Rich and Famous.’’
Marty had pulled the DJ aside earlier, asking that his playlist not include “Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?’’ or “Your Cheatin’ Heart.’’
Maddie looked resplendent, yellow dress and all. She sipped a soda as she welcomed the party guests. Her husband had been sprung from his holding cell after the true suspects were arrested. Carlos told the reporter for the
Himmarshee Times
Kenny had been kept overnight at the jail “for his own protection.’’ The newspaper didn’t publish over the weekend, but word of Kenny’s innocence had already spread over the unofficial hotline.
Some of the same people who’d wanted to hang Kenny for murder showed up to see if my sister would kill him for cheating instead.
He sat in a chair against the wall, accepting birthday wishes and half-truths from friends who claimed they knew all along he didn’t do it. Every few minutes, his eyes shifted toward the wife he’d wronged. Maddie had on her game face, but I knew she’d need time before she’d trust him again, completely. Camilla had manipulated Kenny, pushing all the right buttons for male pride and ego to lure him into her plan. Still, the fact he’d made any progress on the road to forgiveness was probably due to Maddie’s condition.
Before the party started, she revealed to Mama and Marty that she was pregnant.
“I knew it!’’ said Mama, after hugs and congratulations were exchanged. “A mother can always tell.’’
“Get real,’’ I said to her. “You had no idea. You were blaming some
bad Brunswick stew for Maddie’s nausea.’’
“That’s not how I remember it,’’ Mama said airily before rushing to fetch Maddie a ginger ale.
D’Vora arrived an hour late with the infamous Darryl. She looked lovely in a glittery red dress. He, on the other hand, sported a wrinkled Western shirt, jeans with a can of dippin’ tobacco in the rear pocket, and boots so crusty they looked like he’d been out stomping cow patties. When he headed straight for the bar, I cornered D’Vora: “Glad you could make it.’’
Her eyes were glued to the pointed toes of her red high heels. When she finally looked up, a tear spilled onto her cheek. “The whole thing was so confusing, between what I saw in Kenny’s truck, and what everybody was saying. Then, his mug shot was on TV. He looked awful guilty.’’
I waited to see if she was done.
“I’m sorry. I should have listened to you, Mace.’’ She sniffled, and
wiped her eyes. “I’m going to apologize to Kenny, too. He was never anything but nice, and I was quick to jump to conclusions, like everybody else.’’
I was ashamed to admit that same tendency applied to me.
We both looked across the room at Maddie and Kenny. She’d walked over to join him, and he leaped up to settle her into a chair. Maddie didn’t look wedding-day happy, but she didn’t look thunderstorm angry, either. As she sat, Kenny put a hand on her shoulder. She gave it a brief pat, instead of knocking it off.
D’Vora sighed. “I wish just once Darryl would act sweet to me. I better go find him before he gets drunk and falls into a food platter.’’
After D’Vora left, I studied the scene around me. Elaine Naiman
made an appearance, shaking hands and introducing herself to party-
goers. I could definitely see her running for mayor. Big Bill Graf and his wife may not have committed murder, but they were up to their naked asses in the swingers’ circle. That kind of sinfulness would go over during a campaign like a stripper at a church supper. Elaine would be a shoo-in.
Mama regaled a group of guests with her garbage-truck
adventure.
“I’ll never be able to wear my persimmon pantsuit again. It’s completely ruined.’’
Mercifully, my phone rang so I didn’t have to re-hear the already familiar story. My heart sank when I saw it was an unfamiliar number. Not Carlos. He hadn’t returned any of the messages I’d left.
I moved away so as not to disturb the crowd, and then clicked on the call. Glasses clinked and music played on the other end. Suddenly, I knew who’d called Maddie’s answering machine to say Kenny did not commit the murder.
“Hey, Angel.’’
“How’d you know it was me?’’ She seemed surprised.
“Sounds like the 19th Hole. Are y’all busy?’’
“Slammed. I just called to tell you I’m glad the real culprits were arrested. Camilla played me like she did everyone else.’’
The scene with the picture album at Camilla’s house ran through my mind. She’d paged through the photos, describing the more accomplished twin. Everything she said applied to Prudence—the sister she’d envied, hated, and finally murdered.
“Did you know Camilla was pretending to be Prudence?’’
“I suspected, but I wasn’t sure until she came to the swingers’ party. Camilla had a scar … well, let’s just say it was in an intimate spot. I saw it that night. Even before that, I tried to tell you to keep looking for the killer.’’
“I appreciate that.’’
“I would have said more, but I was afraid. Camilla could be vicious.’’
“Obviously.’’
“I’ve got to get back to the bar. I hope you come in sometime to visit. I’ll buy you a beer.’’
“Sure,’’ I said, though both of us knew I was lying.
As I hung up, I saw Mama was coming to the conclusion of her story. Clasping her hands behind her back, she spun two or three times, apparently acting out being rolled up in the rug. She gave a couple of short hops, her feet together as if bound.
“What in the world is she doing?’’ Marty had sidled up next to me.
“Performing the tale of the day she almost got trashed,’’ I said. “Either that, or dancing the most unfortunate bunny hop ever.’’
Marty gave a soft chuckle, before her expression shifted to something more serious. “I’m sorry about you and Carlos, Mace. Mama told me things aren’t so great between you.’’
She gently lifted my hand, looking in vain for the engagement ring. I patted my blazer pocket with my right hand. Foolishly, I was still carrying around the ring.
“Is Carlos coming to the party?’’
I shrugged. “I think I’ve really screwed things up. I left messages, telling him I’m sorry and I don’t want to lose him. But I haven’t talked to him since this morning, when he sped off with Prudence … I mean Camilla … handcuffed in the back of his car.’’
“Well, at least she’s used to handcuffs,’’ Marty said. “How do you suppose the murder happened?’’
Mama stopped beside us to butt in: “This is how some of the swingers say it went down. Camilla had the whole thing planned. She talked her sister into a visit so they could reconcile.’’
“Maybe she gave Prudence the diamond bracelet as a peace offering,’’ I said.
“Then she got her to dress up as a submissive for old time’s sake.
She hooked her up with Jason, saying he liked to role-play being dominant,’’ Mama added.
“That set Prudence up to be strangled,’’ I said. “She picked Kenny as a convenient suspect, jumping his bones in a public place so someone would be sure to notice.’’
Mama said, “Camilla told Jason to make the rough sex serious—and fatal.’’
Marty’s eyes had begun to widen at “some of the swingers.’’ By the time Mama said “rough sex,’’ my little sister was sputtering: “How in the world do you know so much about this kind of thing, Mama?’’
“Honestly Marty,’’ I said, “that’s a part of the mystery you may not want solved.’’
George Strait’s “I Cross My Heart’’ started playing. Sal came and whisked Mama onto the floor for a slow dance. Marty went to find her husband, Sam, to do the same. To my surprise, Kenny and Maddie were also on their feet, swaying to the love song. George had just gotten to the part about making all the dreams come true, when I smelled sandalwood and spices.
Carlos must have rushed to get to the party before it ended, because his hair was still damp. A dab of shaving cream nestled near his ear. I wiped it off. He straightened my collar, which had bunched at the neck of my blazer. His touch made my breath catch in my throat.
“
Buenas noches, niña
.’’
“Good evening to you too,’’ I managed to say. “Did you get my messages?’’
“All of them.’’ He smiled. “You’re very determined.’’
“What can I say? I’m in love.’’
Side by side, we watched the dancers. Maddie and Kenny had inched imperceptibly closer. When the song ended, Kenny’s fingertips rested for just a moment on Maddie’s belly. I couldn’t begin to imagine the emotions each read in the other’s eyes.
Carlos leaned toward me. His breath against my cheek was warm.
It smelled sweet and delicious, like
flan
and Cuban coffee. “Looks like Kenny is forgiven.’’
“Not yet,’’ I said.
“Do you think they’ll get there?’’
I nodded. “I do, eventually. I guess that’s how people in love
are. They may argue. They may even disappoint each other. But they
don’t give up, even if it takes some time.’’
“Kenny loves her. He’ll give her all the time she needs.’’
I turned to face him. “Are we still talking about Maddie and Kenny?’’
He traced the outline of my lips, his fingers as light as butterfly wings. I felt a shiver from my mouth to my toes.
“We’re talking of whatever you want to talk about.’’ His voice was husky.
“You mentioned time … ” I let the word trail off as I took the ring
from my pocket. As he watched, I slipped it back onto my finger.
“What about time?’’ He whispered, his lips brushing my ear.
“It’s the right time.’’ I ached to be with him; to finally be one with him. “Reverend Delilah is here tonight. What do you say we choose a date and ask her if she’ll marry us?’’
His eyes searched mine. He must have found what he was looking for, because he pulled my face to his for a kiss that made my feet feel like they were floating high above my head.
“What are we waiting for?’’ he said.
He put his arm around my waist. Together, we walked toward the minister who would unite us forever as husband and wife.
the
end
about the author
Like the characters in her Mace Bauer Mysteries, Deborah
Sharp’s roots were set in Florida long before Disney or South Beach came to define the state. She does some writing at a getaway in the wild region north of Okeechobee, and some at the Fort Lauderdale home she shares with her husband, Kerry Sanders. A former
USA Today
reporter and native Floridian, she knows every back road and burg, including some not found on any state maps. The little town of Himmarshee may be fictional, but the rodeo-and-ranches slice of Florida that inspires it is both authentic and endangered.
Author photo by Charles Trainor, Jr..